“You are always spoiling us.”
And Porteus Carmagee accompanied her to the gate.
The lawyer rejoined his sister under the lime-tree, biting at his gray mustache, and still rattling the keys in his trousers pocket. He walked with a certain jerkiness that was peculiar to him, the spasmodic and irritable habit of a man whose nerve-force seemed out of proportion to his body.
“Murchison’s an ass—a damned ass,” and he flashed a look over his shoulder in the direction of the fruit-garden.
Familiarity had accustomed Miss Carmagee to her brother’s forcible methods of expression. He detonated over the most trivial topics, and the stout lady took the splutterings of his indignation as a matter of course.
“Well?” and she examined her bent spectacles forgivingly.
“Murchison’s been overworking himself.”
“So Kate told me.”
“The man’s a fool.”
“A conscientious fool, Porteus.”