“Of course, madam, of course,” said the doctor; and then to himself, “Has the woman been taking very strong tea?”
“I have only just learned the terrible news, Dr Bolter—Mrs Bolter,” cried the lady, “and I came on to you.”
“Very kind of you I am sure, ma’am.”
“What do you think, doctor? You have some idea.”
“Not the least at present, ma’am. I was just off to see.”
“That is good of you; but tell me first,” cried the widow, half hysterically. “You do not—you cannot think—that that dreadful woman—”
“What, the Inche Maida, ma’am?”
“No, no! I mean Helen Perowne—has deluded him into following her away to some other settlement.”
“Whom, ma’am, Hilton or Chumbley?”
“Oh, dear me, no, doctor; I mean dear Mr Rosebury.”