It was upon the following day that Dr. Dymock asked to see Gaunt, and with all the diplomacy that he could muster, begged him to keep away from his wife entirely for a fortnight at least.
"I do not like her state of evident mental tension," he said. "She seems strung up to an unnatural pitch, and in these cases we always find that the society of those who are nearest and dearest has a disturbing effect. The whole structure of your future happiness probably depends upon your patience and forbearance now. There are many girls who can, so to speak, take marriage in their stride, without its making any perceptible difference. She is not like that. She is acutely sensitive, just now abnormally so; and, unfortunately for you, she was at the time of her marriage seriously out of health. At present she is not what is unscientifically known as hysterical; but she might become so, as the result of quite a small error of judgment on our part. I shall make it clear to her that you are keeping away entirely out of consideration for her, and I will also speak to your servants, who have been with you long, and are trustworthy. Nobody else need know anything of the matter. You could hardly have a better companion for her than Mrs. Ferris, who has no nerves, who is not observant, and who will keep her amused without wanting to pry into her feelings."
Gaunt was lighting a cigar, sheltering the match from the wind with his hand, so that his expression revealed nothing.
"I'll do anything on earth that you advise," he replied after a minute. "I expect you are right. I do blunder. I find myself blundering. The fact is, I know nothing of women. This was very sudden with me, and I—I haven't gone the right way to work. I need hardly say that her happiness is the first consideration."
"If you feel that, I expect it will all come right," Dymock told him hopefully. "Your forbearance is bound to impress her. I will see that it does impress her. In two or three weeks she will be a different creature. Even then you must let her come along at her own pace. She wants delicate handling."
Gaunt said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders as if he felt himself incapable of the requisite diplomacy. So the other went on:
"Of course, I guess at the circumstances. You fell abruptly in love—you found the lady in a position from which you felt she must be instantly rescued. Your marriage came, as it were, too early in the programme. Well—you must do what a good many other men have done successfully—begin your wooing after you are wed. I seem to have a pretty cool cheek, talking to you like this—what?"
"Circumstances justify you, I think," replied Gaunt. He did not speak as if he were offended, but his voice did not invite further admonition.
Dymock rose to go, and for the first time in his life found himself thinking sympathetically of Gaunt of Omberleigh. How was this affair going to pan out, he wondered.
He turned on the doorstep. "She's anxious about her little sister, I gather," said he.