“Pardon me, madam, it is impossible to discuss certain—”
“My brother desires something definite. He was obliged to go to town to-day.”
“I should prefer to give my opinion—”
“Major Murray left instructions that I should wire to his club—”
“His club?”
“Whether any definite conclusion had been arrived at.”
The two disputants had been volleying and counter-volleying at point-blank range. Neither displayed any sign of giving ground or of surrender. The Scotch lady’s voice had harshened into a slight rasp of natural Gaelic. Dr. Little still fumbled at the buttons of his gloves, his words very much in his throat, his whole pose characteristic of the profession upon its dignity.
“It is quite impossible, Miss Murray, for me to discuss this case.”
The thin lady’s pupils were no bigger than pin-heads, so that her eyes looked like two circles of hard, blue glass.
“Very well, Dr. Little. I must telegraph to my brother that no conclusion has been reached—”