"He's quieter now," he said. "The mere news that you were coming had a
soothing effect. Let me show you the way." He led her upstairs and into a
small room on the first floor, nakedly furnished with necessities, but
with a cheery fire blazing in the grate.
Old Mr. Saffron lay in bed, propped up by pillows. His silver hair
strayed from under a nightcap; he wore a light blue bedroom jacket; its
color matched that of his restless eyes; his arms were under the clothes
from the elbows down. He was rather flushed, but did not look seriously
ill, and greeted Doctor Mary with dignified composure.
"I'll see Dr. Arkroyd alone, Hector." Beaumaroy gave the slightest little
jerk of his head, and the old man added quickly, "I am sure of myself,
quite sure."
The phrase sounded rather an odd one to Mary, but Beaumaroy accepted the
assurance with a nod: "All right, I'll wait downstairs, sir. I hope
you'll bring me a good account of him, Doctor." So he left Mary to make
her examination; going downstairs, he shook his head once, pursed up his
lips, and then smiled doubtfully, as a man may do when he has made up his
mind to take a chance.
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