"It is not at all queer to dislike doctors," he answered her cheerfully.
"I dislike them myself. At the very best they are necessary evils."
"Indeed no! And when one is ill it seems so foolish—"
"Is Mrs. Coombe ill?"
"I don't know. I think so. She has headaches. She is not at all like herself. I hoped so much that you would meet her this afternoon, and then she—she went out!"
"And this is really what is troubling you, and not Aunt Amy?"
"Yes. You see, Aunt Amy has been quite all right until the last two days. But mother—that has been troubling us a long time."
"How long?"
"Almost since father died—a year ago."
"But—don't you think that if Mrs. Coombe were really ill her prejudice would disappear? People do not suffer from choice, usually."
"No. That is just what puzzles me!" She did indeed look puzzled, very puzzled and very young.