"A friend—a casual friend—some one we know."
"She is inexplainably anxious to see him. Soothe, by letting her do so if possible. She has intervals when she is as rational as you or I; it is well to prolong those by letting her talk to people she knows and wants to see. Does he live far away—this Prince Charlie?"
"In—in the town."
"Then, by all means, if she asks again, send for him."
"Yes, doctor."
"Fretting and excitement are to be avoided. Soothe her in every possible way; gentleness and firmness combined go a long way. But this Prince Charlie—from the hold he seems to have on her—may go a longer way still. Of course she may not ask for him again—maybe it is a mere delirious fancy—but if she does, you will know how to act."
But Gracie did ask again. Asked persistently, petulantly, pleadingly. The watcher with the breaking heart allowed the mother in her nature to smother the mere woman. She resolved to humble herself in the dirt: to send for him; he who had so grossly insulted her.
She would not write, she would not see him herself: she could not. She would send a verbal message. Late as it was there was no fear of not finding him up, she knew. He had told her that he always wrote till one in the morning.
The midnight oil phrase was one he was ever using.