“Indeed, doctor, but I do. I’ll take anything you like to prescribe.”
“But—”
“Now, doctor, I am low and nervous, and you must humour me a little. I could not bear to be sent away. I should feel as if I had gone over there to die.”
“When I guarantee that you would come back strong and well?”
“No, doctor, no. You must not send me away. Deal gently with me, and let me stop in my own nest. Ah, if you only knew my sufferings.”
Dr Horace North felt as if he fully knew, and was content to stand off at a distance, for though everything was extremely ladylike and refined, and there was a touch of delicacy mingled with her words, he could not help interpreting the meaning of the widow’s sighs and the satisfied look of pleasure which came over her countenance when he was at hand to feel her pulse.
“I do know your sufferings,” he said gravely, “and you may rely upon me to bring any little skill I can command to bear upon your complaint. Think again over the idea of change.”
“Oh, no, doctor,” said the lady quickly. “I could not go.”
“Ah, well, I will not press you,” he said, rising. “I’ll try and prescribe something that will give you tone.”
“You are not going, doctor,” said the lady, in alarm. “Why, you have only this moment come.”