"And are you to look after his patients?" asked Mrs. Greatorex, turning to Dillwyn.
"Oh no"—smiling. "I am not big enough for that. Bland is to see to them."
Once settled in the fly, that on all occasions was borrowed from the inn to convey them to such distances as Mrs. Greatorex could not walk, the latter turned to her niece.
"When did Dr. Dillwyn tell you Mrs. Darkham might recover?" asked she very quietly.
"Last evening. I was standing at the gate, and he happened to be passing by. I asked him about Mrs. Darkham's condition, and he told me he thought she might recover, but it was very doubtful."
"I should think," said Mrs. Greatorex presently, "between you and me, that Dr. Darkham is feeling profoundly relieved at this present moment."
"You mean—-"
"That that woman was the curse of his existence for the past twenty years."
"She was dreadful, certainly. But Dr.—Dr. Dillwyn said he looked so sorry."
"It was a shock, of course, but he will recover from that in no time. And he is a handsome man, and rich and clever."