I found Lisabel at home. By some chance, she had missed the Grantons, and Captain Treherne had missed her; I know not of which accident I was the most glad.
Frankly and plainly, as seemed to me best, I told her of my meeting Doctor Urquhart, and of all that had passed between us; saving only the fact of Sir William's letter to him, which, as he said it was “in confidence,” I felt I was not justified in communicating even to my sister.,
She took everything very easily—laughed at Mr. Treherne's woes, called him “poor fellow,” was sure all would come right in time, and went upstairs to dress for dinner.
On Thursday she got a letter from him which she gave me to read—very passionate, and full of nonsense. I wonder any man can write such rubbish, or any woman care to read it—still more to show it. It gave no information on facts—only implored her to see him; which, in a neat little note, also given for my perusal, Lisabel declined.
On Friday evening, just after the lamp was lit and we were all sitting round the tea-table, who should send in his card with a message begging a few minutes' conversation with Mr. Johnston, but Doctor Urquhart? “Max Urquhart, M.D.”—as his card said. How odd he should be called “Max.”
Papa, roused from his nap, desired the visitor to be shown in, and with some difficulty I made him understand that this was the gentleman Mrs. Granton had spoken of—also—as Penelope added ill-naturedly, “the particular friend of Captain Treherne.”
This—for though he has said nothing, I am sure he has understood what has been going on—made papa stand up rather frigidly when Doctor Urquhart entered the parlour. He did so, hesitatingly, as if coming out of the dark night, the blaze of our lamp confused him. I noticed he put his hand to shade his eyes.
“Doctor Urquhart, I believe Mrs. Granton's friend, and Captain Treherne's?”
“The same.”
“Will you be seated?”