"No one at all?"
Michael made a mental effort which did not escape Wentworth.
"I should like very much to see—presently—if it could be done——"
"Yes," said Wentworth eagerly. "Of course it can be done, my dear boy. You would like to see?"
"Doctor Filippi," said Michael, looking deprecatingly at Wentworth. "He was so good to me. And I am accustomed to seeing him. I miss him all the time. I wonder whether you would let him come and stay here for his holiday. He generally takes it in June. And—let me see—it's May now, isn't it?"
Wentworth's heart swelled with jealousy and disappointment. The jealousy was of the doctor, the disappointment was about Fay. The larger of the two emotions was jealousy.
"You have sent Doctor Filippi a very handsome present," he said coldly. "I chose it for you, a silver salver. I went up to London on purpose at your wish a week ago."
"Y-yes."
"And I don't think he would care to come here. No doubt he has his own friends. You must remember a man like that is poor. It would be putting him to expense."
Michael looked down at the sleeping puppy. He did not answer.