Grace was not so beautiful as Margaret, but she was not like the ordinary women he had seen; he had got into a groove of very middle-aged ladies, and, seeing them in private, saw them bereft of those adornments which concealed the ravages of time from the outside world.
Grace with her rippling hair tumbling over her shoulders, a heightened colour and sparkling eyes, prejudiced him directly.
So handsome a young woman must be certainly very wicked. Doctor Jones is not the only person in the world who imagines that goodness and plainness walk hand in hand. He prepared from the first therefore to act on the defensive, and his tone, asking, "You wished to see me, madam," was distinctly aggressive, and Grace, sensitive and anxious, recognized the tone and felt that at the outset she was met with a difficulty.
"Doctor Jones, you have seen and you know my sister, Mrs. Drayton."
"I have seen her; I cannot say that I know her; one cannot know a person just by seeing them for a moment or two."
"Well," said Grace, a little impatiently, "you know her husband, Mr. Drayton?"
"Slightly; yes, slightly, I do know him."
"Do you know that he is—mad?"
"No, I know nothing of the kind. Who says so, Miss Rivers?"
"I know it," said Grace, "and something must be done immediately!" She spoke with rising excitement.