Before she had time to make further objection, Dr. Fergusson was in the room.
When he took her hand in his, and asked in his quiet, grave manner how she was, Jean's throbbing pulses were strangely soothed and stilled.
"I am up in town for a few days, and my mother asked me to call and see you. Miss McTaggart has been telling me how ill you have been."
"I am better now," Jean faltered, looking round for Barbara. But Barbara had left the room.
Dr. Fergusson drew a chair up opposite her—
"You look like a shade or ghost of your former self," he said in his most cheerful tone. "Now I am going to take you in hand. Tell me what you have been doing with yourself."
There was a tone of masterfulness in his voice that Jean could not resist.
She obeyed him at once, and then, without asking her, he gently took hold of her bandaged hand, and began asking her various questions as he unbound it. She winced once or twice under his touch, but his presence gave her confidence, and he talked to her so professionally that she was soon at ease with him.
When Barbara came back, she found the doctor talking in his most genial tones, and Jean, lying back amongst her cushions, was smiling brightly at him.
She sat down and poured out tea, and Dr. Fergusson gave them as much Scotch news as they wished for.