It was all admirably calm. The doctor did not even look at him; but his frown deepened, and he strode down the passage with threatening footsteps. Eric was not conscious of having followed; but he found himself on the threshold, as the door was thrown open. Ivy and Gaymer had been given time to prepare themselves; she was lying back with half her face hidden in a bouquet of lilies of the valley, while he stood with his hands on the back of a chair, as though he were just leaving. Neither shewed surprise or discomfiture at the doctor’s volcanic entry, but Ivy could not repress a cry at sight of Eric.
“Now, young man, you can take yourself off!,” Gaisford snapped at Gaymer, jerking his thumb towards the door.
There was a confusion of four voices speaking at once.
“I just brought some flowers.”
“Eric!”
“A pretty time to call—exciting my patient, when she ought to be asleep!”
“H-how are you, Ivy? I came up for one night—only decided at tea-time....”
Eric found himself face to face with Gaymer, who nodded quickly as he walked to the door. He was as much concerned as a man who finds that he has left himself too little time to dress before dinner—as much and no more. He seemed to be murmuring, “’Evening, Lane. No idea it was so late. ’Couldn’t get round before. Glad to see she’s so much better.”
Thus far for the audience; he retreated in good order; and in another moment there was a rattle as he picked up his stick from the hall table. Eric found his jaw moving; but he could say nothing, he did not even know what he wanted to say. It was no use staring at the blank door-way, he could not turn without facing Ivy... The authoritative voice was speaking again, apparently addressing him; the resonant words defined themselves into “If you’ll run away now, I’ll come and have a word with you on my way out.”
Eric went to his bedroom and began to undress, because it gave his hands occupation. They were trembling until he could hardly undo the buttons of his waistcoat. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and found himself a little paler than usual; his forehead was still glistening with the insufferable heat of the passage, but there should have been something to shew that he had been blown to bits and was held together by shreds of tattered skin. Lines that he had learned as a boy at school....