“I’d like to bet it’s nothing serious at all.”
“My dear young lady,” said Mr. Bennett, piqued. “I have devoted a considerable part of my life to medical study....”
“I know. That’s the trouble. People oughtn’t to be allowed to read medical books.”
“Well, we need not discuss it,” said Mr. Bennett stiffly. He resented being dragged out of the valley of the shadow of death by the scruff of his neck like this. A dying man has his dignity to think of. “I will leave you now, and go and see young Mortimer.” He clung to a hope that Bream Mortimer at least would receive him fittingly. “Good-night!”
“But wait a moment!”
Mr. Bennett left the room, unheeding. He was glad to go. Jane Hubbard irritated him.
His expectation of getting more satisfactory results from Bream was fulfilled. It took some time to rouse that young man from a slumber almost as deep as his father’s; but, once roused, he showed a gratifying appreciation of the gravity of affairs. Joy at one half of his visitor’s news competed with consternation and sympathy at the other half. He thanked Mr. Bennett profusely, showed a fitting concern on learning of his terrible situation, and evinced a practical desire to help by offering him a bottle of liniment which he had found useful for gnat-stings. Declining this, though not ungratefully, Mr. Bennett withdrew and made his way down the passage again with something approaching a glow in his heart. The glow lasted till he had almost reached the landing, when it was dissipated by a soft but compelling voice from the doorway of Miss Hubbard’s room.
“Come here!” said Miss Hubbard. She had put on a blue bath-robe, and looked like a pugilist about to enter the ring.
“Well?” said Mr. Bennett coldly, coming nevertheless.
“I’m going to have a look at that tongue of yours,” said Jane firmly. “It’s my opinion that you’re making a lot of fuss over nothing.”