“I came here on Friday evening, Andrew. The children are as well as such poor neglected lambs could be expected to be.”
Dr. Maybright raised his eyebrows very slightly.
“I was not aware they were neglected,” he said. “I am sorry they strike you so. I also have a little natural antipathy to hearing children compared to sheep. But where are they? I have been away for four days, and am in the house five minutes, and not the voice of a child do I hear? Where is Helen—where is my pretty Poll? Don’t they know that their father has arrived?”
“I cannot tell you, Andrew. I have been alone myself for the last two or three hours, but I ordered your tea to be got ready. May I give you some? Shall we come to the dining room at once? Your family were quite well three hours ago, so perhaps you and I may have a quiet meal together before we trouble about them any further. I think I may claim this little indulgence, as only properly respectful to your wife’s sister, Andrew.”
“Yes, Maria, I will have tea with you,” said the Doctor. The pleased, bright look of anticipation had altogether now left his face; it was careworn, the brow slightly puckered, and many lines of care and age showed round the lips.
“I will just go upstairs and wash my hands,” said Dr. Maybright. “Then I will join you in the dining-room.”
He ran up the low stairs to his own room; it was not only full of Aunt Maria’s possessions, but was guarded by the faithful Scorpion, who had flown there in disgust, and now again attacked the Doctor’s legs.
“There is a limit,” he murmured, “and I reach it when I am bitten by this toy terrier.”
He lifted Scorpion by his neck, and administered one or two short slaps, which sent the pampered little animal yelping under the bed; then he proceeded down the passage in search of some other room where he might take shelter.
Alice met him; her eyes glowed, and the color in her face deepened.