Miss Marjoribanks · Chapter 41 (2/2)

“It’s a great pity,” said the Doctor: “I knew old Lichfield once, the chief partner⁠—I am very sorry to hear it’s true;” and then the two shook hands, and the brougham drove on. As for Mr. Cavendish, he made up his mind at once that the Doctor was involved, and was not sorry, and felt that it was a sort of judicial recompense for his desertion of his friends. And he went home to tell his sister of it, who shared in his sentiments. And then it was not worth while going out any more that day⁠—for the electioneering agent, who knew all about it, was not coming till the last train. “I suppose I shall have to work when he is here,” Mr. Cavendish said. And in the meantime he threw himself into an easy chair. Perhaps that was why he was getting so stout.

And in the meantime the Doctor went on visiting his patients. When he came back to his brougham between his visits, and went bowling along in that comfortable way, along the familiar roads, there was a certain glumness upon his face. He was not a demonstrative man, but when he was alone you could tell by certain lines about the well-worn cordage of his countenance whether all was right with the Doctor; and it was easy to see just at this moment that all was not right with him. But he did not say anything about it when he got home; on the contrary, he was just as usual, and told his daughter all about his encounter with Mr. Cavendish. “A man at his time of life has no right to get fat⁠—it’s a sort of thing I don’t like to see. And he’ll never be a ladies’ man no more, Lucilla,” said the Doctor, with a gleam of humour in his eye.

“He is exactly like George the Fourth, papa,” said Miss Marjoribanks; and the Doctor laughed as he sat down to dinner. If he had anything on his mind he bore it like a hero, and gave no sign; but then, as Mrs. John very truly remarked, when a man does not disclose his annoyances they always tell more upon him in the end.