“I am not well enough to receive visitors,” Sir William said, in the same dry voice.
“My dear William, you must let me stay with you five minutes; I will not intrude longer on your privacy”—and she seated herself on the chair facing him.
“If what you have to say is of a business nature, I am not well enough to enter upon it now.”
“Did you derive benefit from your stay at Cannes?—you were constantly in my thoughts.”
“Thank you, thank you.”
“I fear you have had to abandon many of your city occupations,” she went on, in a sympathetic voice; “it must be a great regret to the corporation. I was speaking of your mayoralty some months ago to Mr. Fisher, the editor of The Centre.” Aunt Anne was talking to gain time. Her throat was choking; her mouth twitched with restrained excitement.
“Where did you meet him?” Sir William asked, in a judicial manner, tapping the arm of his chair with his thin fingers.
“I met him at Walter Hibbert’s.”
He was silent, and seemed to be waiting for her to go. For a few moments she could not gather courage to speak again. He looked up at her.
“I am much obliged for this visit,” he said coldly, “but I cannot ask you to prolong it.”