"Why, Miss Wayne, of course. You know she and Mr. Cheniston came on to see me after finding you weren't able to go owing to being seedy yourself"—even Anstice's sore spirit could not doubt the little man's absolute ignorance of the nature of his supposed illness—"and they asked me to go in your place. So as it was an urgent case of course I did not hesitate to go."
"Of course not." Anstice strove to speak naturally. "Well, you went?"
"Yes, and treated the child. As you know, she is only a kiddie, and the shock has been as bad as the actual burns, though they are severe enough."
"Have you been there to-day?"
"No—that's what I came to see you about. I stayed pretty late last night, and left the child asleep; but now, of course, you will take over the case. Mrs. Carstairs understood I was only filling your place, you know."
"Do you think"—Anstice hesitated oddly, and Dr. Willows told himself the man looked shockingly ill—"do you think Mrs. Carstairs would prefer you to continue the case?"
"Good Lord, no!" Dr. Willows stared. "Why, what bee have you got in your bonnet now? I told you Mrs. Carstairs knew I was only representing you because you were ill, and couldn't come, and I told her I would run over first thing this morning and see if you were able to take on the case yourself."
"What did Mrs. Carstairs say to that?"
"She agreed, of course. And if I were you"—Dr. Willows felt vaguely uncomfortable as he stood there in the morning sunshine—"I'd go round pretty soon." He looked at his watch ostentatiously. "By Jove, it's after ten—I must get on. Then you'll go round to Cherry Orchard this morning?"
"Yes." Anstice accepted the inevitable. "I'll go round almost immediately. Thanks very much for coming, Willows. I ... I'm grateful to you."