"Why not?" the doctor asked, with slightly raised eyebrows.
"Why? Because this higher education, as it is called, is bringing the country to the dogs. Get an educated proletariat, and the reign of the nobility and gentry is at an end. You see the thin end of the wedge already. Your Board-school boys and girls are all cursed with notions; they are too big for their jackets, too high for their station; they have no respect for squire or parson, and they are too high and mighty to do honest work."
"I cannot say that has been my experience," the doctor said quietly; and he rose from his chair and began to pull on his gloves.
"You are not going?" Sir John questioned anxiously.
"For an hour or two. I should like, with your permission, to telegraph to Dr. Roscommon. You know he is regarded now as the most famous surgeon in the county."
"But surely, doctor----" Sir John began, with a look of consternation in his eyes.
"I should like to have his opinion," the doctor said quietly.
"Of course--of course! Get the best advice you can. No expense must be spared. My child must be saved at all costs."
"Rest assured we shall do our best," the doctor answered, and quietly left the room.
For the best part of another hour Sir John paced restlessly up and down the room, then he dropped into an easy-chair and fell fast asleep.
He was aroused at length by a timid knock at the door.
"Come in!" he answered sleepily, fancying for a moment that he was in bed, and that his servant had brought him his shaving-water.
The next moment he was on his feet, with an agitated look in his eyes.
A servant entered, followed by Ralph Penlogan, who looked as if he had not slept for the night.
Instead of waiting to know if Sir John would see him, Ralph had stalked into the room on the servant's heels. He was too anxious to stand on ceremony, too eager to unburden his mind. He had never had a moment's peace since his meeting with Dorothy Hamblyn the previous afternoon. He felt like a criminal, and would have given all he possessed if he could have lived over the previous afternoon again.
Sir John recognised him in a moment, and drew himself up stiffly. He never felt altogether at ease in the presence of the Penlogans. He knew that he had "done" the father, driven a most unfair bargain with him, and it is said a man never forgives a fellow-creature he has wronged.