“As good a pulse as ever man had,” pronounced Mr. Walsingham.
“You don’t say so? why the physicians tell me—”
“Never mind what they tell you—if they told you the truth, they’d tell you they want fees.”
Mrs. Beaumont, quite startled by the tremendously loud voice in which Mr. Walsingham pronounced the word truth, rose, and rang the bell for her carriage.
“Mr. Palmer,” said she, “I am afraid we must run away, for I dread the night air for invalids.”
“My good madam, I am at your orders,” answered Mr. Palmer, buttoning himself up to the chin.
“Mrs. Beaumont, surely you don’t think this gentleman an invalid?” said Mr. Walsingham.
“I only wish he would not think himself such,” replied Mrs. Beaumont.
“Ah! my dear friends,” said Mr. Palmer, “I really am, I certainly am a sad—sad—”
“Hypochondriac,” said Mr. Walsingham. “Pardon me—you are indeed, and every body is afraid to tell you so but myself.”