So here was a measure of relief from another quarter.
"Did you wire for any of Mrs. Darling's people?"
"No. She didn't want any one. We suggested sending for the duke and duchess. But the idea only excited her. Then we thought of Kneedrock. He's a cousin, you know, and a sort of next-of-kin protector and adviser. But she wouldn't have him at any price. Gritty little woman, Nina."
Dr. Dodson came between tea and dinner, and it was more through good luck than good management that Carleigh saw him.
He had gone to his nursery bed-chamber, where he had been looking over the evening things laid out for him, only to discover that the pumps provided were fully two sizes too large.
Twice he had rung for valet or footman without response—his own man had been shipped up to town that morning—and was on his way to Nevill Dalgries's quarters when he encountered an elderly gentleman—bearded, carrying a small professional-looking hand-bag, and stepping with professional briskness—turning into the corridor from an intersecting passage.
He stopped him without the least hesitation. "I fancy you are Dr. Dodson?" he said.
The physician signified assent, and Carleigh introduced himself.
"I do so want to learn of poor Mrs. Darling," he went on. "I am very anxious."
"Mrs. Darling," Dodson replied, "is doing capitally. I have every reason to believe that she will make an amazingly quick recovery, Sir Caryll."