“They wish to see my husband?”
“Yes; I must suggest, Mrs. Murchison—”
“I understand the matter perfectly. Dr. Murchison cannot come.”
She was bold, nay, aggressive, and the theorist looked blank behind his glasses.
“Am I to infer—?”
“Dr. Murchison is not well,” and she hesitated, groping fiercely for excuses; “he has had—I think—some kind of ptomaine poisoning. Yes, he is better now, and asleep. I cannot have him disturbed.”
“Indeed! I am excessively sorry. May I—?”
She saw the proposal quivering on his lips, and beat it back ere it was uttered.
“Thank you, no; you had better call in Dr. Hicks; he will advise you temporarily. Dr. Murchison will be able to resume work, I hope, to-morrow. If the case is very urgent—”
Dr. Inglis tugged at his gloves.