"Just so, Uncle Jasper, and you can spare him that by telling me what you know."
"My dear niece, if you will have it?"
"I certainly am quite resolved, uncle."
"Well, well, you approach this subject at your peril. If you must see the doctor you must. Wilful woman over again. Would you like me to go with you?"
"No, thank you; I prefer to go alone. What is the doctor's name?"
"Sir George Anderson, of B—— Street."
"I will go to him at once," said Charlotte.
She left the room instantly, though she heard her uncle calling her back. Yes, she would go to Sir George at once. She pulled out her watch, ran upstairs, put on some out-door dress, and in ten minutes from the time she had learned the name of the great physician was in a hansom driving to his house. This rapid action was a relief to her. Presently she arrived at her destination. Yes, the doctor was at home. He was engaged for the present with another patient, but if Charlotte liked to wait he would see her in her turn. Certainly she would wait. She gave her card to the man who admitted her, and was shown into a room, very dark and dismal, where three or four patients were already enduring a time of suspense waiting for their interviews. Charlotte, knowing nothing of illness, knew, if possible, still less of doctors' rooms. A sense of added depression came over her as she seated herself on the nearest chair, and glanced, from the weary and suffering faces of those who waited anxiously for their doom, to the periodicals and newspapers piled on the table. A gentleman seated not far off handed her the last number of the Illustrated London News. She took it, turning the pages mechanically. To her dying day she never got over the dislike to that special paper which that half hour created.
One by one the patients' names were called by the grave footman as he came to summon them. One by one they went away, and at last, at last, Charlotte's turn came. She had entered into conversation with a little girl of about sixteen, who appeared to be in consumption, and the little girl had praised the great physician in such terms that Charlotte felt more than ever that against his opinion there could be no appeal. And now at last she was in the great man's presence, and, healthy girl that she was, her heart beat so loud, and her face grew so white, that the practised eyes of the doctor might have been pardoned for mistaking her for a bona-fide patient.
"What are you suffering from?" he asked of her.