Whether by accident or from emotion due to the doctor’s call, Andrea was seized with one of those fainting fits which had so alarmed her brother, and she was staggering, with her handkerchief carried to her mouth in pain.
The doctor assisted her to the sofa and sat down on it beside her. She was astonished at the second visit of one who had declared the case insignificant that same morning and still more that he should take her hand, not like a doctor to feel her pulse, but like a friend. She was almost going to snatch it away.
“Do you desire to see me, or is it merely the desire of your brother?” he asked.
“My brother did announce his intention of seeing you; but after your having said the matter was of no moment I should not have disturbed you myself.”
“Your brother seems to be excitable, jealous of his honor, and intractable on some points. I suppose this is why you have not unbosomed yourself to him?”
Andrea looked at him with supreme haughtiness.
“Allow me to finish. It is natural that seeing the pain of the young gentleman and foreseeing his anger, you should obstinately keep secret before him: but towards me, the physician of the soul as well as of the body, one who sees and knows, you will be spared half the painful road of revelation and I have the right to expect you will be more frank.”
“Doctor,” replied Andrea, “if I did not see my brother darkened with true grief and yourself with a reputation of gravity I might believe you were in a plot to play some comedy with me and to frighten me into taking some disagreeable medicine.”
“I entreat you, young lady,” said the doctor frowning, “to stop in this course of dissimulation.”
“Dissimulation?”