Stephen Gore pushed back his chair and stood at his full height, as though he felt the need of feeling himself taller than this little crab of a man who knew so much, and whose authority was so obsequious and yet so strong.
“Women have no patience, sir, and will scream ‘fire’ when a log falls on the hearth. I am up to my eyes in a rush of affairs to-day. And my friends will thank me if I breathe a pest into all their faces.”
“To-morrow would serve, my lord.”
“I may take your word for that? Good. Are there any cautions you would give me?”
Dr. Hemstruther screwed his face into an expression of intense sagacity.
“I will send you a powder to burn, my lord, and a mild draught to clear you. Sit by an open window, and have all the clothes you go in burned.”
“My thanks. And now, sir, if you will pardon me, my leisure is not my own.”
He unlocked a cabinet, took out a silk purse, and, crossing the room, held the purse out to the physician.
“I am exerting myself in that little affair of yours, Dr. Hemstruther,” he said. “It is a pleasure to labor for one’s friends.”
Both smiled faintly as they looked into each other’s eyes. Dr. Hemstruther put the purse away in an inner pocket and made one of his most courtly bows.