Possibly Mr.
Pearson's ailment does come from sleeping in a draught. Not that father
was accustomed to SLEEP during the sessions--Oh, dear, no! not that, of
course. How absurd!"
She laughed gayly. Pearson, who seemed to think it time to say
something, declared that, so far as he knew, he had no cold or any
symptoms of one.
"Well," said Mrs. Hepton, with conviction, "something ails you, I know.
We can all see it; can't we?" turning to the rest of the company. "Why,
you've scarcely spoken since you sat down at the table. And you've eaten
next to nothing. Perhaps there is some trouble, something on your mind
which is worrying you. Oh, I HOPE not!"
"No doubt it is the preoccupation of genius," remarked Mrs. Dickens.
"I'm sure it must be that. When 'C.' is engaged with some particularly
trying literary problem he frequently loses all his appetite and does
not speak for hours together. Isn't it so, dear?"
"C.," who was painfully conscious that he might have made a miscue in
the matter of the quotation, answered sharply.
"No," he said. "Not at all. Don't be silly, Maria."
Miss Sherborne clasped her hands. "_I_ know!" she exclaimed in mock
rapture; "Mr. Pearson is in love!"
This suggestion was received with applause and hilarity.
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