"Are you going there now?"
"I am going there at once."
"I should like to go with you--not into the house, you know--so as to know as soon as possible."
"Very well; come along, then. You can sit in the carriage, while I go in and see my patient. Be quick; we can discuss details on our way."
Two minutes more saw George Wainwright seated beside his father in one of the least pretentious and best-appointed broughams in London, to the displacement of sundry books and pamphlets, the indefatigable Doctor's inseparable companions.
"You are acquainted with Mrs. Stothard, I presume," said the Doctor, "and aware of her true position in the family: partly nurse, partly companion, partly keeper to my patient."
George winced as his father completed this sentence, but unperceived.
"Yes," he replied, "I do know her: a disagreeable, designing, unpleasant person--strong-minded decidedly."
"Strong-bodied too; and needing to be so sometimes, I am sorry to say."
George winced again.