Next minute Fitzroy himself and Peggy, now a beautiful, ladylike girl of thirteen, entered.
The white-haired old physician rose, and bowing, prayed them to be seated.
“Is this to be my little patient?” he said. “She does not look ill.”
“No,” answered Fitzroy; “she is not ill, but we have a strange story to tell, which will interest you; at least I believe so.”
The doctor touched the bell.
“James,” he said, when the man re-entered, “I am not to be disturbed until I ring. Let callers wait. Now, Mr. Fitzroy, I am at your service.”
“You have been physician, I believe, for many years to Mrs. Wycliffe of Wycliffe Park here, in your neighbourhood?”
The doctor folded his thin white hands and leaned back complacently in his chair.
“For over twenty years,” he said.