George saw Annette once, by special permission of Dr. Wainwright, during the three days which sufficed for her preparations. He had been strictly enjoined to avoid all agitating topics of conversation, and was not supposed by Annette to be acquainted with the facts of the case, or the nature of the interview which had taken place as arranged by Dr. Wainwright. While studiously obeying his father's injunctions, George watched Annette narrowly as he cautiously spoke of the Doctor, towards whom she had never displayed the smallest liking or confidence, and he perceived that the disclosures which had been made to her had already produced a salutary effect. There was less versatility in her manner, and more cheerfulness, and she spoke voluntarily and with grateful appreciation, although vaguely, of Dr. Wainwright. She alluded freely to her projected journey; and it was rather hard for George to conceal that he had some previous knowledge on the subject. Her manner, modest and artless as it was, could not fail to be interpreted favourably to himself by the least vain of men; and when the moment of parting came, it needed his strong sense of the all-importance of discretion to enable him to restrain his emotion, to conceal his consciousness of the impending crisis. When the interview was over, and George had taken leave of Annette, when he went away with the memory of a sweet, tranquil, sane smile, as the last look on her face, he was glad.
No mention had been made by Mrs. Derinzy of her son, by Annette of her cousin, and George had been so absorbed in the interest of this strange and exciting turn of affairs, that he had not thought of his friend. But when he had, from a point of view whence he was not visible, watched the departure of Miss Derinzy, Mrs. Stothard, and Annette's maid, under the charge and escort of the trustworthy and carefully-instructed Collis, as he turned slowly away from the railway-station when the tidal-train had rushed out of sight, he said to himself:
"Now I must go and look after Paul."
[CHAPTER XXX.]
DAISY'S RECANTATION.
There was no doubt about it, Paul was very ill indeed. The doctor, when he came, pronounced the young man to be in a very critical state, and gave it as his opinion that an attack of brain-fever was impending. This confidence was given to George, for whom Paul's landlady had sent at once, immediately on her lodger being brought home. The doctor--who was no other than little Doctor Prater, the well-known West-End physician, who is looked upon, and not without reason, as the medical ami des artistes--took George aside, and probably without knowing it, put to him as regards Paul the same question which Doctor Turton asked Oliver Goldsmith, "Whether there was anything on his mind?" The response was pretty much the same in both cases. George shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, and admitted that his friend had been "rather upset lately."
"Ah, my dear sir," said the little doctor, "not my wish to pry into these matters; man of the world, see so much of this sort of thing in the pursuance of a large practice, could tell at once that our poor friend had some mental shock. Lady, I suppose? Ah well, must not inquire; generally is at his time of life; later, digestion impaired, bank broken; but in youth generally a lady. I am afraid he is going to be very bad; at present agrotat animo magis quam corpore, as the Latin poet says; but he will be very bad, I have not the least doubt."
"It's a bad business," said George dolefully, "a very bad business. He ought to be nursed, of course; and though I have heard him speak of the woman of the house as kind and attentive and all that, I don't know that one could expect her to give her time to attend to a sick man."
"Our young friend will require a good deal of attention, my dear sir," said the little doctor; "for night-work, at all events, he must have some professional person. What did you say our young friend's name was? Mr. Derinzy. Ah, the name is familiar to me as--yes, to be sure, great house in the City, millionaire and that kind of thing; and your name, my dear sir?"
"My name is Wainwright," said George, smiling in spite of himself at the little man's volubility.