“Yes, sir,” said the maid. “It took me very much by surprise.”
“All right upstairs?” asked Gould.
“I believe so. The doctor is just leaving.”
By this time the man had brought my luggage into the hall. At the same moment a grey-headed old gentleman came down the stairs, slipping a stethoscope into his side-pocket. He also seemed startled at seeing me.
I trusted that old gentleman, and I trusted the maid who had opened the door, and I did not trust Mr. Nathan Gould a bit. At this moment his air was far more that of a man who has recently pulled off a clever financial coup than of a son who has succeeded in saving a mother to whom he is devoted from a great sorrow. Gould went forward to the doctor at once.
“How is she?” he asked eagerly.
“No change,” said the doctor. He looked across at me. “Really,” he said, “the resemblance is astounding.”
Gould brought him up to me. “This is our doctor,” he said. “Dr. Wentworth.” Gould hesitated. I had not given him my name.
“I am Miss Tower,” I said.
The doctor bowed. “May I ask,” I said, “if you have been attending Mrs. Gould for some time?”