Superfluous contrition! He came next day, as a matter of course. She liked him none the better for coming, but she went downstairs to him.
He came toward her, but started back and uttered an exclamation. “You are not well,” he said, in tones of tenderness and dismay.
“Not very,” she faltered; for his open manly concern touched her.
“And you have come here to nurse this old lady? Indeed, Miss Vizard, you need nursing yourself. You know it is some time since I had the pleasure of seeing you, and the change is alarming. May I send you Dr. Atkins, my mother's physician?”
“I am much obliged to you. No.”
“Oh, I forgot. You have a physician of your own sex. Why is she not looking after you?”
“Miss Gale is better employed. She is at Vizard Court in attendance on a far more brilliant person—Mademoiselle Klosking, a professional singer. Perhaps you know her?”
“I saw her at Homburg.”
“Well, she met with an accident in our hall—a serious one; and Harrington took her in, and has placed all his resources—his lady physician and all—at her service: he is so fond of Music.”
A certain satirical bitterness peered through these words, but honest Uxmoor did not notice it. He said, “Then I wish you would let me be your doctor—for want of a better.”