Douglas Dale was very much inclined to make light of the slight symptoms of ill-health which had oppressed him for some time—a languor, a sense of thirst and fever, which were very wearing in their effect, but which he attributed to the alternations of excitement and agitation that he had undergone of late.
He was, however, too much a man of honour to break the promise made to
Paulina.
He went early on the following morning to Savile Row, where he called upon Dr. Harley Westbrook, a physician of some eminence, to whom he carefully described the symptoms of which he had complained to Paulina.
"I do not consider myself really ill," he said, in conclusion; "but I have come to you in obedience to the wish of a friend."
"I am very glad that you have come to me," answered Dr. Westbrook, gravely.
"Indeed! do you, then, consider the symptoms alarming?"
"Well, no, not at present; but I may go so far as to say that you have done very wisely in placing yourself under medical treatment. It is a most interesting case," added the doctor with an air of satisfaction that was almost enjoyment.
He then asked his patient a great many questions, some of which Douglas Dale considered frivolous, or, indeed, absurd; questions about his diet, his habits: questions even about the people with whom he associated, the servants who waited upon him.
These latter inquiries might have seemed almost impertinent, if Dr.
Westbrook's elevated position had not precluded such an idea.
"You dine at your club, or in your chambers, eh, Mr. Dale?" he asked.