It was the little dining-room at Highmore; a low room, of modest size,
plainly furnished. An enormous fire-place, paved with plain tiles, on
which were placed iron dogs; only wood and roots were burned in this
room.
Mrs. Bassett had just been packed off to bed by marital authority;
Bassett and Wheeler sat smoking pipes and sipping whisky-and-water.
Bassett professed to like the smell of peat smoke in whisky; what he
really liked was the price.
After a few silent whiffs, said Bassett, "I didn't think they would
take it so quietly; did you?"
"Well, I really did not. But, after all, what can they do? They are
evidently afraid to go to the Court of Chancery, and ask for a jury in
the asylum; and what else can they do?"
"Humph! They might arrange an escape, and hide him for fourteen days;
then we could not recapture him without fresh certificates; could we?"
"Certainly not."
"And the doors would be too well guarded; not a crack for two doctors
to creep in at."
"You go too fast. _You_ know the law from me, and you are a daring man
that would try this sort of thing; but a timid woman, advised by a
respectable muff like Oldfield! They will never dream of such a thing."
"Oldfield is not her head-man. She has got another adviser, and he is
the very man to do something plucky.
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