Mrs. Marston flushed again.
She was an exceedingly high-spirited woman, one could perceive at a glance, and it galled her beyond expression to have any one make conditions for her like this.
“How can it matter to you what my motives are?” she demanded, imperiously.
“A physician has no right to betray the confidence of his patients,” calmly responded the doctor; “and unless you have some urgent reason for your request, I shall not feel at liberty to give you the information you desire.”
“Are you their physician?”
“I was, for a time. I was first called to the child not three days after it had been given to them.”
“How could you tell that it was the same child? Babes of that age look much alike.”
“Do you suppose that a man in my profession could be so lacking in observation as not to recognize a babe at whose birth he had officiated, and in which so much of unusual interest seemed to center?” queried Doctor Turner, with a slight curl of his lips. “I knew her the moment I saw her; but they do not know, to this day, that I had even a suspicion that she was not their own flesh and blood.”
“You never told them?” said Mrs. Marston, quickly.
“Madame,” returned the gentleman, with dignity, “need I remind you again that an honorable physician never betrays the confidence of his patients. You confided in me to a certain extent, and I knew that you wished to drop entirely out of existence, as far as your relation with the child and its adopted parents were concerned. I knew also that they wished its adoption to remain a secret—consequently my lips were sealed.”