Mr. Tamlyn came into the room presently: he had been out to a patient. Seeing that Bertie was half asleep, he and Dr. Knox stood talking together on the hearthrug.
“What’s that?” cried the surgeon, suddenly catching sight of the movement of the restless fingers picking at the counterpane.
Dr. Knox did not answer.
“A trick he always had,” said the surgeon, breaking the silence, and trying to make believe to cheat himself still. “The maids say he wears out all his quilts.”
Bertie opened his eyes. “Is that you, papa? Is tea over?”
“Why, yes, my boy; two or three hours ago,” said the father, going forward. “Why? Do you wish for some tea?”
“Oh, I—I thought Arnold would have liked some.”
He closed his eyes again directly. Dr. Knox took leave in silence, promising to be there again in the morning. As he was passing the dining-room downstairs, he saw Mr. Shuttleworth, who had just looked in. They shook hands, began to chat, and Dr. Knox sat down.
“I hear you do not like Lefford,” he said.
“I don’t dislike Lefford: it’s a pretty and healthy place,” was Mr. Shuttleworth’s answer. “What I dislike is my position in it as Tamlyn’s partner. The practice won’t do for me.”