“And how’s Susan?” he asked, as he entered the room.
“There she is with her governess, and you can see for yourself,” snappishly returned the dowager, walking out, and leaving the doctor with Miss Kingscott and her charge.
Susan looked greatly improved, and timidly offered her hand as he went up to her in his hearty way.
“And how are we to-day?” he said kindly.
She, to his great astonishment, not only looked him in the face, but answered him, which she had seldom or ever done before.
“Very well, I thank you,” she said, quietly.
It was not much, certainly; not more, perhaps, than a well-trained parrot might have said, but, then, it was a decided improvement to her former apathy. She immediately afterwards, however, left the room, as she heard Markworth playing on the organ up-stairs; and Miss Kingscott and the doctor were alone.
“By Gad, madam!” exclaimed the doctor, as soon as she had gone—he did not mean to give Miss Kingscott “brevet rank,” but he always addressed every woman, young or old, as “Madam.”
“By Gad, madam! it’s positively wonderful. What an improvement; couldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it! But where has she gone to now—who’s that thrumming the old organ?”
“That must be Mr Markworth, I believe,” she answered, “and you must compliment him on Susan’s improvement: she’s always with him, and he seems quite devoted to her. It is really quite charming to see them together.”