Christina pushed her wrist towards him wearily.
“Oh no, not yours!” he said, with a little laugh. “Yours doesn’t matter. I meant this little lady’s. I’m not your doctor. I’m a doll’s doctor.”
Christina turned her poor flushed face towards him for the first time. A doll’s doctor—it was a new idea. And he really seemed to be all right—not anyone dressed up to make her feel foolish or coax her into taking horrid medicine. “Was it your carriage I heard?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I have come on purpose. But so many dolls are ill just now that I must be getting away soon. It’s quite a bad time for dolls, especially French ones. They are very delicate.”
“Mine is French,” Christina said, growing really interested.
“How very curious!” he answered. “I had a French patient the other day—a Parisian—whose sight had become so weak that she had to wear glasses. And now for the pulse,” he went on, and he drew out a large gold watch.
Mrs. Tiverton was looking on with tears in her eyes. Christina had not taken this quiet interest in anything or kept so still in bed for many hours. Not even the sleeping draught had had any effect.
The Miss Bannisters’ Brother held Diana’s tiny wrist and looked very grave. “Dear, dear!” he said, “I ought to have been sent for before, and then I could have cured her here in your arms. As it is, I must take her to the light. Won’t you have that nice jelly while I am treating Miss——? Let me see, what is my patient’s name?”
“Diana,” Christina said.
“Ah, yes—Miss Diana. By the time you have finished the jelly I ought to have finished my visit.” So saying he rose and carried Diana to the window-seat behind the curtains, while Mrs. Tiverton gave Christina the jelly. Christina took it, nurse said afterwards, like a lamb—though I never saw a lamb take jelly.