Mrs. St. John thought this rather singular. Presently she saw Mr. Pym and her husband come out and go strolling down the avenue together. The latter soon turned back.
"Benja, go and tell papa that I want him."
Mr. St. John caught up Benja when the boy met him, kissed him, fondly put him down again, and the two came on together; Benja leaping and holding his papa's hand. Mrs. St. John was watching with compressed lips. Even still she could not bear to see the love of her husband for Benja. It was very foolish of her, very wrong, and she knew herself that it was so: but, strive against it as she would, as she did, the feeling kept its mastery over her.
"George, what is the matter with you?" she asked, as her husband sat down beside her, and Benja ran off with his pictures. "Why does Mr. Pym come?"
"I think he comes partly because he likes the walk," was the answer, given with a smile. "I asked him for some tonics during the time he was attending you, and he constituted me a patient directly. It's the way with doctors."
"Don't you feel well?"
"I don't feel strong. It's nothing, I suppose. You need not look alarmed, Charlotte."
Mrs. St. John was looking more surprised than alarmed She wondered her husband had concealed it, she said, half reproachfully.
"My dear, there was no concealment in the case. I felt languid, and spoke to Pym: that was all. It was not worth mentioning."
"You have no complaint, George?"