“Is anything the matter, Mrs Berens?”
“Matter, my dear Mary?” said the lady, in a piteous voice. “Oh, yes; but how beautiful and soft and patient you look!”
She bent down and kissed the invalid, sighed, and wafted some scent about the room.
“I’m a great deal worried, dear, about money matters, and—and other things.”
“Money, Mrs Berens? I thought you were rich.”
“Not rich, dear, but well off. But money is a great trouble; for Mr Thompson, my agent in London, worries me a great deal, investing and putting it for me somewhere else. He says I am wasting my opportunities—that he could double my income; and when he comes down, really, my dear, his attentions are too marked for those of a solicitor.”
“Mr Thompson is a relative of Dr North, is he not?” said Mary gravely.
“Yes; he asked Dr North to introduce him, and the doctor did,” said Mrs Berens ruefully. “But it was not about the money; it was about Dr North himself I came to speak.”
“Indeed!” said Mary, with a faint tinge of colour showing.
“Yes, my dear; and I don’t want you to think me a busybody, but I could not help noticing that he seemed attached to Leo; and it is troubling me for Leo’s sake.”