“Corbin came with you, of course,” Mr. Romaine said to Madame de Fonblanque after a while. He had at last consented to take a little brandy, although steadily refusing any of Chessingham’s medicine, and seemed to be revived by it. Then he said to Chessingham:
“Pray, after I am dead, give my regards to Corbin, but don’t let him examine my coffin plate. I desire my age put down as fifty-eight, and I won’t have one of Corbin’s long-winded arguments to prove that I am sixty-nine. Still, Corbin is a good fellow. But if there were many like him, the rascals would soon have a handsome majority everywhere. And I also wish my regards given to Mrs. Chessingham and Miss Maywood, and my apologies for disappointing them regarding the season in London. And also to Letty Corbin,” and Mr. Romaine paused, and his face softened.
“Say to Jemima Corbin, if I ever caused her pain I now ask her forgiveness for it.”
This surprised both Chessingham and Madame de Fonblanque much, who knew of no reason why Mr. Romaine should send such a message to good Miss Jemima.
It was now about eleven o’clock. Mr. Romaine was evidently going fast, but he still managed to resist being laid on the sofa.
“You will last longer,” said Chessingham.
“I don’t care to last any longer than I can help,” snapped Mr. Romaine, in what Farebrother had called his Romainesque manner.
“My will is in that drawer,” he said, with some difficulty. “It will cause a good deal of surprise,” and his teeth showed in a ghastly smile between his blue lips, “and also a letter for Madame de Fonblanque.”
At the last Mr. Romaine fell into a stupor. Presently he opened his eyes, and looking Chessingham full in the face, said in a pleasant voice, “Good-night.”
“Good-night,” responded Chessingham; and before the words were out of his mouth Mr. Romaine had ceased to breathe.