“I have a most interesting but puzzling case,” he said. “There are some nice people I know in the neighbourhood, the widow of a general practitioner and her two daughters, who add to a small income by letting lodgings. I generally send them patients of mine who come up from the country for treatment. The other day a doctor in Stainbury, an old friend of mine, wrote to me. A sad accident had occurred at the theatre there, during the performance of an opera by a travelling company. A scenic staircase, or tower, or something, had given way, and the young lady who was singing had a remarkably awkward fall. Her spine was not fatally injured, but the concussion had been followed by symptoms so new to him that he wished to send the case on to me, provided he could raise a subscription. The girl was poor and friendless, etcetera. Well, of course, I was only too glad to do what I could. I wrote back, if he would see to her removal here, and could get some of his rich friends and patients to help a bit, I would see to her for nothing, and her lodging could be paid out of a fund I keep going for poor patients. You see, Paull, sometimes matters go very well very unexpectedly with my special cases. (I was going to say our special cases, for I see you are doomed to nerve specialism.) Then the patient’s friends often get gushing. Some gush in words, but some wish to ‘give me some little token,’ as they call it. Then, when I know they can afford it, I bring out the account book of the poor patients’ fund, and get a handsome subscription or donation, or both. Well, the girl came up, and has been with Mrs. Draper for the last three weeks. They are very kind to her. She has a nurse, of course. But we make no progress. To-day I feared she was sinking.”
At first, Hugh excused himself, almost with a fear that Dr. Hildyard’s opinion of his ability was a hallucination.
Did some warning of the influence this incident was to have upon his future make him feel so strong a disinclination to meet the doctor’s wishes to-night, and visit his interesting patient with him? Oftentimes, in after years, he thought back, and asked himself that question, which none could answer.
It was bad enough to be called upon to pronounce on a case which had been a perplexing one to Dr. Hildyard.
It was only after further talk on the part of the doctor, who insisted on the fact of the peculiar insight Hugh had shown on various occasions being no credit to its owner—in fact, being perhaps somewhat of a drawback to the development of talents which were necessary to the making of a sound medical man, that the young surgeon gave way.
Almost as soon as he had reluctantly consented, the butler announced that the carriage was at the door.
“It is a mere stone’s-throw,” said Dr. Hildyard, as they drove through the lamplit streets. “We might have walked; but it is raining very fast now, and I promised to drive you back, if you remember.” Then he chatted away very fast till the brougham turned the corner and stopped before a tall house in a street leading out of a well-known West-end square.
“Here we are,” said the doctor. “How is Miss Morton to-night?” he asked of the neat parlourmaid, who opened the door. “Oh, there is nurse!”
A tall young lady, in the dark dress and picturesque cap and apron of a professional nurse, appeared on the first landing.
“Come up,” said Dr. Hildyard to Hugh, running up the stairs. “Nurse, this is the medical friend I spoke about this morning.”