Hilda only glowered at him without replying; repartee was not her forte, nor Connie’s; so she glowered, and he was much more uncomfortable than if she had said things.

“I’ll take her to a doctor,” said Hilda at length, “Can you suggest a good one round here?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Then I’ll take her to London, where we have a doctor we trust.”

Though boiling with rage, Clifford said nothing.

“I suppose I may as well stay the night,” said Hilda, pulling off her gloves, “and I’ll drive her to town tomorrow.”

Clifford was yellow at the gills with anger, and at evening the whites of his eyes were a little yellow too. He ran to liver. But Hilda was consistently modest and maidenly.