But why should it agitate you?"
"Many a little thing seems to agitate me now," he answered. "I have not
felt well of late; perhaps that's the reason."
"I think you might have satisfied me a little better. I expect it is some
enormous debt risen up against you."
Better she should think so! "I shall tide it over," he said aloud. "But
indeed, Maude, I cannot bear for you delicate women to be brought into
contact with these things; they are fit for us only. Think no more about
it, and rely on me to keep trouble from you if it can be kept. Where's
Bob? He is here, I suppose?"
"Bob's in his room. He is going into a way, I think. When he wrote and
asked me if I would allow him to come here for a little change, the
medical men saying he must have it, mamma sent a refusal by return of
post; she had had enough of Bob, she said, when he was here before. But
I quietly wrote a note myself, and Bob came. He looked ill, and gets
worse instead of better."
"What do you mean by saying he is going into a way?" asked Lord
Hartledon.
"Consumption, or something of that sort. Papa died of it. You are not
angry with me for having Bob?"
"Angry! My dear Maude, the house is yours; and if poor Bob stayed with us
for ever, I should welcome him as a brother. Every one likes Bob."
"Except mamma. She does not like invalids in the house, and has been
saying you don't like it; that it was helping to keep you away.
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