He appeared neither to notice my manner nor my tone.
“You’ve had a long spell of it,” said he. “I’d no idea a broken arm was such a serious thing. But I dare say you’ll be all the better for your long rest.”
I set to work to open my desk and get together my papers and pens, ready for work.
“It was a bad fall you had,” continued he, standing beside me as I was thus employed. “You have no idea how distressed I was when it happened. But Whipcord was really in such a shocking state that night that—”
“Can you give me a piece of blotting-paper?” I said to Doubleday across the desk.
He waited till I had got what I wanted, and proceeded, smiling as ever, “It really wasn’t safe for any of us. Masham, by the way, was very sorry to hear of your accident, and asked me to tell you so. I meant to do so the evening I called, but your friend was really so polite that I forgot all about it.”
I had stood it thus far, and kept to my resolve of saying as little as I could. But when he brought in Jack’s name it was all I could do to hold my peace.
I made an excuse to leave my place and consult a Directory, in the hopes of shaking him off, but there he was when I returned, ready to go on as benignly as ever.
“I’m sure, Batchelor,” said he, “it must have been greatly against you to be cooped up in that miserable lodging all the time, and in—what I should call—such uncongenial society. But when one is ill, of course one has just to put up with what one can get.”
My patience had reached its limit at last.