She found herself alone with one man. At first she did not recognise him, then she gave a start. It was Dr Anstruther, the medical man who attended her mother. He came at once towards her, holding out his hand.
“How do you do, Miss Marcia? I am very glad to see you, and to have the pleasure of travelling with you as far as Newcastle.”
Marcia replied that the pleasure was also hers, and then she began to ask him one or two questions with regard to her stepmother.
“I cannot tell you how thankful I am,” he said, “that you have returned; her case perplexes me a good deal.”
“Her case perplexes you, doctor?”
“Well, yes. Things are going from bad to worse.”
“But surely,” said Marcia, with a little gasp and a tightening at her heart, “you are not seriously alarmed about my stepmother.”
“Not seriously alarmed at present, but I soon should be if the present state of things went on.”
“I always thought,” said Marcia, “and I gathered that opinion partly from your words, that her case was not at all serious, and that you believed most of her symptoms to be purely imaginary.”
“On purpose I always encouraged her to think so, and a good many of her symptoms are imaginary, or rather they are only the consequence of weakened nerves; her nerves are very weak.”