“Come with me, Tom,” she said.
He had obeyed her from childhood. This time he tried, and failed miserably.
“Beg pardon, Patty,” he stammered, “no offensh meant. Thish factor thinks h' ownsh Gordon's now. I say, not'll h' marries you. Good fellow, Richard, but infernal forward. Eh, Courtenay?”
Philip turned away, while the doctor pretended to examine the silver punch-ladle. As for me, I could only stare. It was Patty who kept her head, and made us a stately curtsey.
“Will you do me the kindness, gentlemen,” said she, “to leave me with my brother?”
We walked silently into the parlour, and I closed the door.
“Slife!” cried Courtenay, “she's a vision. What say you, Philip? And I might see her in that guise again, egad, I would forgive Tom his five hundred crowns!”
“A buxom vision,” agreed my cousin, “but I vow I like 'em so.” He had forgotten his cold.
“This conversation is all of a piece with the rest of your conduct,” said I, hotly.
The candles were burning brightly in the sconces. The doctor walked to the glass, took snuff, and burnished his waistcoat before he answered.