"Perhaps."
"In a few days," went on the doctor, "she ought to go out, if it can be managed without her putting her feet to the ground. You have no motor, have you?"
"No."
"See here, Gaunt—forgive me if this sounds like interference, but the fact of your never having had any ladies to the house—your well-known tastes, or distastes—make things a bit difficult for your wife. She is all alone—there's nobody to come and see her, or cheer her up. I am going to make a bold suggestion. Young Mrs. Ferris is simply bursting with hospitable intentions, and, though she is a bit of a rough diamond, she is one of the best. They have a motor, and she has nothing else to do. Let me send her round in a day or two to call upon Mrs. Gaunt?"
Gaunt's brow lowered. "A woman with a voice like a fog-horn——"
"No beauty, I grant you, but a real good sort, and your only near neighbour. Let her drive Mrs. Gaunt about, show her the Peak, take her shopping to Buxton, import some light literature from the circulating library—something to pass the time."
"It may be that you are right," replied Gaunt after some hesitation. "I don't want visitors yet, but if Mrs. Ferris would understand that she is quite an exception——"
"It would double her desire to be of use," laughed the doctor. "Well, good day. I'll send along a tonic, and I think I should like to see your wife again to-morrow."
"Come as often as you think wise."
The clatter of the hoofs of the doctor's mare died away along the wooded aisles. Gaunt remained standing, his head bent, his hands locked behind his back. He hardly knew what he felt, what dominating impulse would emerge out of the present confusion of a mind which for more than twenty years had been swayed by one sole idea.