The doctor was very quiet and grave, as he took the chair pointed to by Lady Scarlett; and as he gazed at her rather fixedly, his face seemed to harden.
“I am very glad you have come,” she said. “James seems to be more restful and confident now you are here. He always thought so much of you.”
“We were such old companions: perhaps that is it.”
“Well, you have seen him again this morning. You said I was to give you time. Now, tell me what you think. You find him better?”
“I must be frank with you, Lady Scarlett,” said the doctor. “No; I do not.”
“And I was so hopeful!” said the poor woman piteously.
“It would be folly for me not to speak plainly—I think cruelty. I find him worse.”
Lady Scarlett let her head go down upon her hands, covering her face, and the doctor thought that she was weeping; but at the end of a minute she raised her head again, and looked at her visitor, dry-eyed and pale. “Go on,” she said in a voice full of suppressed pain.
“I cannot, help telling you plainly what I think.”
“No; of course not. Pray, hide nothing from me.”