‘Ah! Miss Prissy!’
‘If you please, sir,’ said Miss Prissy, ‘I’d like a little conversation.’
The Doctor was well enough used to such requests from the female members of his church, which generally were the prelude to some disclosures of internal difficulties or spiritual experiences. He therefore graciously motioned her to a chair.
‘I thought I must come in,’ she began, busily twirling a bit of her Sunday gown. ‘I thought—that is I felt it my duty—I thought—perhaps—I ought to tell you—that perhaps you ought to know—’
The Doctor looked civilly concerned. He did not know but Miss Prissy’s wits were taking leave of her. He replied, however, with his usual honest stateliness,
‘I trust, dear madam, that you will feel at perfect freedom to open to me any exercises of mind that you may have.’
‘It isn’t about myself,’ said Prissy. ‘If you please, it’s about you, sir, and Mary.’
The Doctor now looked awake in right earnest, and very much astonished besides; and he looked eagerly at Miss Prissy to have her go on.
‘I don’t know how you would view such a matter,’ said Miss Prissy; ‘but the fact is, that James Marvyn and Mary always did love each other ever since they were children.’
Still the Doctor was unawakened to the real meaning of the words, and he answered, simply,—