There isn't a soul
here except Sir Omicron Pie, and Plantagenet, and two of the other
nephews,--whom, by the bye, he has refused to see. Old Lady Hartletop
wanted to come."
"And you wouldn't have her?"
"I couldn't have refused. I shouldn't have dared. But the Duke would
not hear of it. He made me write to say that he was too weak to see
any but his nearest relatives. Then he made me send for you, my
dear;--and now he won't see the relatives. What shall we do if Lady
Hartletop turns up? I'm living in fear of it. You'll have to be shut
up out of sight somewhere if that should happen."
During the next two or three days the Duke was neither much better
nor much worse. Bulletins appeared in the newspapers, though no one
at Matching knew from whence they came. Sir Omicron Pie, who, having
retired from general practice, was enabled to devote his time to the
"dear Duke," protested that he had no hand in sending them out. He
declared to Lady Glencora every morning that it was only a question
of time. "The vital spark is on the spring," said Sir Omicron, waving
a gesture heavenward with his hand.
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