“Yes, sir.”
“What is she doing?”
“Crying her heart out.”
Benjulia turned away again with the air of a disappointed man. A violent moral shock sometimes has a serious effect on the brain—especially when it is the brain of an excitable woman. Always a physiologist, even in those rare moments when he was amusing himself, it had just struck Benjulia that the cook—after her outbreak of fury—might be a case worth studying. But, she had got relief in crying; her brain was safe; she had ceased to interest him. He returned to the dining-room.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
“You look hot, sir; have a drink. Old English ale, out of the barrel.”
The tone was hearty. He poured out the sparkling ale into a big tumbler, with hospitable good-will. Mr. Mool was completely, and most agreeably, taken by surprise. He too was feeling the influence of the doctor’s good humour—enriched in quality by pleasant remembrances of his interview with the cook.
“I live in the suburbs, Doctor Benjulia, on this side of London,” Mr. Mool explained; “and I have had a nice walk from my house to yours. If I have done wrong, sir, in visiting you on Sunday, I can only plead that I am engaged in business during the week—”
“All right. One day’s the same as another, provided you don’t interrupt me. You don’t interrupt me now. Do you smoke?”