Lady Hartledon lay
in bed, and did not attempt to get up or to get better. She lay almost as
one without life, taking no notice of any one, turning her head from her
husband when he entered, refusing to answer her mother, keeping the
children away from the room.
"Why doesn't she get up, Pepps?" demanded the dowager, wrathfully,
pouncing upon the physician one day, when he was leaving the house.
Sir Alexander, who might have been supposed to have received his
baronetcy for his skill, but that titles, like kissing, go by favour,
stopped short, took off his hat, and presumed that Lady Hartledon felt
more comfortable in bed.
"Rubbish! We might all lie in bed if we studied comfort. Is there any
earthly reason why she should stay there, Pepps?"
"Not any, except weakness."
"Except idleness, you mean. Why don't you order her to get up?"
"I have advised Lady Hartledon to do so, and she does not attend to me,"
replied Sir Alexander.
"Oh," said the dowager. "She was always wilful. What about her heart?"
"Her heart!" echoed Sir Alexander, looking up now as if a little aroused.
"Dear me, yes; her heart; I didn't say her liver. Is it sound, Pepps?"
"It's sound, for anything I know to the contrary. I never suspected
anything the matter with her heart."
"Then you are a fool!" retorted the complimentary dowager.
Sir Alexander's temperament was remarkably calm.
Pages:
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459