“I could take you to a woman who is praying to die, but I may not. There are plenty of them, though. Is not this a wretched world?”
“I do not think so, neither do you, Miss Whitwell.”
“Oh, yes, I do! Why, everything is wrong. And men who have power and strength and ability are droning away their lives doing nothing—absolutely nothing. Why do you not lift up your voice against the cruelty that is practised in this town?”
“I haven’t a very strong voice. It would not make much noise if I lifted it up all day.”
“Dr. Stapleton, you are brutal!”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Whitwell. What do you want me to do? I am sure the world is better than it ever was before.”
“I am glad I did not live in it before, then. Things seem to me dreadfully bad now.”
“All great growths are slow. But I believe that the right is winning its way more rapidly than slowly, and in the long run it is sure to conquer.”
Tom Whitwell laughed. “You are repeating your creed, doctor. It is very proper of you; but you don’t believe it this morning, do you now? One of your patients is ill because she has had to stand twelve hours a day selling flowers and ribbons over a draper’s counter. Another is ill because a drunken husband brutally assaulted her; another because her landlord did not keep his house in proper repair, and the stairs gave way under her. A little child is dying because he has never been properly fed; another because he has been poisoned by foul drains; and yet another because some men treated him to several drinks of gin. And we are sending to represent us in the House of Commons Mr. Richard Lavender.”
Dr. Stapleton passed his hand across his brow wearily. “Did you say you had a case on which you wished to consult me?” he asked. “Where is this woman who will not see a doctor?”