The Doctor laughed. “You mustn’t allow yourself to be so easily impressed, my dear,” he said. “I notice, however, that she takes a great deal of responsibility off your hands, and that ought to reconcile you to any drawbacks. I have just sent word to Mrs. Harris to have dinner at one instead of twelve, as I shall be busy at the office, and can’t get away so soon.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when they saw David returning down the hall in haste, followed by a tall figure advancing with majestic tread. The doctor coughed uneasily.
“Dr. Grafton!” proclaimed the Duchess; “David says as ’ow you wants the dinner put off till one!”
There was an accent of such injury in her voice that the Doctor found himself saying hastily:—
“Why, yes, Mrs. Harris, I did send that message, but—”
“I thought it best to tell you as ’ow it can’t be done,” replied the Duchess, with finality, turning to depart.
Dr. Grafton caught the smile on Barbara’s face.
“What’s that?” he said peremptorily; “can’t be done? Why not?”
The Duchess turned back with surprise written in her large, serene countenance. “Why not? Why not?” she repeated. “Why, because it ain’t convenient to change, sir.”