She sank into a chair as if she were very tired, and for a moment closed her eyes. Her face was almost colorless, and there were violet tints on her eyelids and her lips. Mr. Ingledew looked at her gravely and knit his brows. He knew well that her explanation of Mrs. Vane's words was quite insufficient. Mrs. Vane had sweetly and solemnly assured him that she had begged "dear Enid" to see a doctor—Mr. Ingledew or another—and that she had firmly refused to do so, saying that she felt quite well. Enid's words did not tally with Mrs. Vane's report at all. The doctor knew which of the two women he would rather believe.
The General walked away, leaving the patient and the medical man together. At the close of the interview, which did not last more than a few minutes, Enid rose with a weary little smile and left the room. The General came back to Ingledew.
"Well, Ingledew?"—Mr. Ingledew looked grave.
"I should not say that there was anything very serious," he said; "but Miss Vane certainly requires care. She suffers from palpitation of the heart and faintness; her pulse is intermittent; she complains of nausea and dizziness. Without stethoscopic examination I cannot of course be sure whether there is anything organically wrong; but I should conclude—judging as well as I can without the aid of auscultation—that there was some disturbance—functional disturbance—of the heart."
"Heart! Dear, dear—that's very serious, is it not?"
"Oh, not necessarily so! It may be a mere passing derangement produced by indigestion," said the doctor prosaically. "I will come in again to-morrow and sound her. I hope it is nothing more than a temporary indisposition." And so Mr. Ingledew took his leave.
"Mrs. Vane didn't want me to see her!" he said, as he left the house. "I wonder why?"
Meanwhile Enid, passing out into the hall, had been obliged to stand still once or twice by reason of the dizziness that threatened to overcome her. She leaned against the wall until the feeling had gone off, and then dragged herself slowly up the stairs. She had suffered in this way only for the last week or two—since Hubert went away. At first she had thought that the warm spring weather was making her feel weak and ill; but she did not remember that it had ever done so before. She had generally revived with the spring, and been stronger and better in the warmth and sunshine of summer. She could not understand why this spring should make her feel so ill. She went into her own room and lay down flat on the bed. She had the sensation of wishing to sink deeper and deeper down, as if she could not sink too low. Her heart seemed to beat more and more slowly; each breath that she drew was an effort to her. She wondered a little if she was going to die.
Presently she heard somebody enter the room. She was not strong enough to turn her head; but she opened her eyes and saw her maid Parker standing beside her bed and regarding her with alarm.
"Law, miss, you do look bad!" she said.