"There was something I was going to ask you about," she said, "but it's no matter. Doctor King says you are sick."
"Don't believe all Doctor King tells you."
"I just wanted to get advice for—for somebody else. But it's no matter."
"Let's hear about the 'somebody else.'"
"They are not Old Chester people—so you won't mind if I don't name names?"
"Not in the least," said Doctor Lavendar, genially. "Call 'em Smith; that's a somewhat general title."
"Oh—no, that's not their name," she said, panic-stricken—then saw that he had meant it as a joke, and said, trying to smile, yes, there were a good many Smiths in the world! Then suddenly her misery rose like a wave, and swept her into words: "These people are terribly unhappy, at least the mother is, because—" She paused, stammered, felt she had gone too far, and stumbled into contradictions which could not have misled anyone, certainly not Doctor Lavendar. "They, these people, had let their child be adopted—oh, a great many years ago, because they—they were not so situated that they could bring him—it—up. But they could, now. And they wanted him, they wanted him—her, I mean," said Mary; "I believe it was a little girl. But the little girl didn't want to come back to them. And the person who had taken her influenced her against her parents, who had done everything for her!—given her everything a child could want. It's cruel," said Mary. "Cruel! I know the parents, and—"
"Mary," said Doctor Lavendar, gently, "so do I."
She recoiled as if from a blow. "No—oh no! You are mistaken, sir. You couldn't know them. His—his relatives don't live here. They live in another city. You couldn't possibly know them!"
She was white with terror. What would Carl say? Oh, she must lie her way out of it! How mad she had been to come here and hint at things!