very much obliged to you, sir. I beg your pardon! Making such a bother of myself for nothing worse than a tumble! You must think me a poor creature.”
“On the contrary, I think you’ve excellent bottom. More bottom than sense! You silly gudgeon! you know you ride a feather! What made you suppose you could hold such a heady young ‘un as that chestnut of yours?”
“He didn’t get away with me!” Aubrey said, firing up. “I let him rush it—I was riding carelessly—but there isn’t a horse in the stables I can’t back!”
“ Much more bottom than sense!” said Damerel, quizzing him, but with such an understanding smile in his eves that Aubrey forbore to take offence. “And I suppose a few worse gudgeons, like that bailiff of mine, told you the horse was too strong for you, which was all that was needed to set you careering over the countryside! I own I should have done the same, so I won’t comb your hair for it. Where am I to find the sawbones who doctors you when you’ve knocked yourself up?”
“Nowhere! I mean, I don’t want him: he will only pull me about, and make it ten times worse! It’s nothing—it will go off if I lie still for a while!”
“Now, Mr. Aubrey, you know Miss Lanyon would have the doctor to you, and no argle-bargle about it!” interposed Mrs. Imber. “And as for making you worse, why, what a way to talk when everyone knows he’s as good as any grand London doctor, and very likely better! It’s Dr. Bentworth, my lord, and if it hadn’t been for Croyde taking Nidd off with him like he did I would have sent him to York straight!”
“Well, if he has brought the horses in by now he can set off as soon as I’ve written a note for the doctor. Meanwhile—”
“I wish you will not!” Aubrey said fretfully. “I’m persuaded I shall be well enough to go home long before he can come all this way. If you would but leave me alone—I—I won’t have a grand fuss made over me! I hate it beyond anything!”
This ungracious speech made Mrs. Imber look very much shocked, but Damerel replied coolly: “Yes, abominable! No one shall make a fuss over you any longer. You shall try instead if you can go to sleep.”
To Aubrey, who was feeling as if his every limb had been racked, this suggestion seemed so insensate that it was with difficulty that he refrained from snapping back an acid retort. He was left to solitude, and to his own reflections, but these, do what he would, could not be diverted for long from his body’s aches and ails, and soon resolved themselves into a nagging dread that the fall had injured his hip badly enough to turn him into an out-and-out cripple, or at the very least to keep him tied to a sofa for months. However, before he had had time to make himself sick with worry Damerel came back into the room with a glass in his hand. After one keen look at Aubrey, he said: “Pretty uncomfortable, eh? Drink this!”
“It’s of no consequence: I can bear it,” Aubrey muttered. “If it’s laudanum I don’t want it—thank you!”
“Remind me to ask you what you want, if ever I should wish to know!” said Damerel. “At the moment I don’t! Come along, do as I tell you, or a worse fate may befall you!”
“It couldn’t,” sighed Aubrey, reluctantly taking the glass.
“Don’t be too sure of that! I’ve no patience, and no bowels of mercy either. Can it be that you don’t know you are in the ogre’s den?”
That made Aubrey smile, but he said, looking distastefully at his potion: “I don’t take this stuff unless I am absolutely obliged. I’m not a weakling, you know—even if I do ride a feather!”
“You’re an obstinate whelp. And who is making the grand fuss now, I should like to know? All for nothing more than a composer to make you more comfortable until your doctor can set you to rights! Drink it at once, and let me have no more nonsense!”
Wholly unused to receiving peremptory commands, Aubrey stiffened a little; but after staring
“On the contrary, I think you’ve excellent bottom. More bottom than sense! You silly gudgeon! you know you ride a feather! What made you suppose you could hold such a heady young ‘un as that chestnut of yours?”
“He didn’t get away with me!” Aubrey said, firing up. “I let him rush it—I was riding carelessly—but there isn’t a horse in the stables I can’t back!”
“ Much more bottom than sense!” said Damerel, quizzing him, but with such an understanding smile in his eves that Aubrey forbore to take offence. “And I suppose a few worse gudgeons, like that bailiff of mine, told you the horse was too strong for you, which was all that was needed to set you careering over the countryside! I own I should have done the same, so I won’t comb your hair for it. Where am I to find the sawbones who doctors you when you’ve knocked yourself up?”
“Nowhere! I mean, I don’t want him: he will only pull me about, and make it ten times worse! It’s nothing—it will go off if I lie still for a while!”
“Now, Mr. Aubrey, you know Miss Lanyon would have the doctor to you, and no argle-bargle about it!” interposed Mrs. Imber. “And as for making you worse, why, what a way to talk when everyone knows he’s as good as any grand London doctor, and very likely better! It’s Dr. Bentworth, my lord, and if it hadn’t been for Croyde taking Nidd off with him like he did I would have sent him to York straight!”
“Well, if he has brought the horses in by now he can set off as soon as I’ve written a note for the doctor. Meanwhile—”
“I wish you will not!” Aubrey said fretfully. “I’m persuaded I shall be well enough to go home long before he can come all this way. If you would but leave me alone—I—I won’t have a grand fuss made over me! I hate it beyond anything!”
This ungracious speech made Mrs. Imber look very much shocked, but Damerel replied coolly: “Yes, abominable! No one shall make a fuss over you any longer. You shall try instead if you can go to sleep.”
To Aubrey, who was feeling as if his every limb had been racked, this suggestion seemed so insensate that it was with difficulty that he refrained from snapping back an acid retort. He was left to solitude, and to his own reflections, but these, do what he would, could not be diverted for long from his body’s aches and ails, and soon resolved themselves into a nagging dread that the fall had injured his hip badly enough to turn him into an out-and-out cripple, or at the very least to keep him tied to a sofa for months. However, before he had had time to make himself sick with worry Damerel came back into the room with a glass in his hand. After one keen look at Aubrey, he said: “Pretty uncomfortable, eh? Drink this!”
“It’s of no consequence: I can bear it,” Aubrey muttered. “If it’s laudanum I don’t want it—thank you!”
“Remind me to ask you what you want, if ever I should wish to know!” said Damerel. “At the moment I don’t! Come along, do as I tell you, or a worse fate may befall you!”
“It couldn’t,” sighed Aubrey, reluctantly taking the glass.
“Don’t be too sure of that! I’ve no patience, and no bowels of mercy either. Can it be that you don’t know you are in the ogre’s den?”
That made Aubrey smile, but he said, looking distastefully at his potion: “I don’t take this stuff unless I am absolutely obliged. I’m not a weakling, you know—even if I do ride a feather!”
“You’re an obstinate whelp. And who is making the grand fuss now, I should like to know? All for nothing more than a composer to make you more comfortable until your doctor can set you to rights! Drink it at once, and let me have no more nonsense!”
Wholly unused to receiving peremptory commands, Aubrey stiffened a little; but after staring
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