The Strange Cases of Dr. Stanchon

The young doctor stamped vehemently up the marble steps, to warm his feet, and once in the warm, flower-scented halls, let a little shiver escape him. The butler was new—he was always new, the doctor thought—and actually didn't know him.
Mrs. Allen is at bridge, sir, with a party: she asks to be excused, he began mechanically.
( That's good! Stanchon felt tempted to say, and I hope the girls are out, too! ) As if in answer to this indiscretion, the new butler droned on:
Miss Alida is at her riding-lesson and Miss Suzanne is—is engaged——
( Now, what particular infernal idiocy is Suzanne at, I wonder? Stanchon pondered, still smiling lightly at the butler and warming himself at every breath. )
Mr. Edmund is—I think he could be found, sir, the voice went on.
( I don't doubt it, Stanchon agreed mentally, at the side board, no doubt; a nice time of day for a lad of twenty to be hanging about the house! )
But all he said was:
I am the doctor. I called to see Miss Mary.
Oh! Even this new butler assumed a look of burdened intelligence; he leaned toward the visitor, Oh, yes, sir—Miss Mary. I understood that it wouldn't be possible for Miss Mary to see anybody, sir, but I suppose, the doctor——