“Then you are an impostor! You shall never see even the tip of my tongue.”
He laughed as if it were such fun to laugh.
“What is medicine to you?” he asked after counting forty drops from a vial into the water. “A woman in a crowd once touched the border of a certain garment and through faith was healed; so I take the thing that He has ordained for healing, all created things are His garment; through His garment I come nearer to Him and am healed.”
Mrs. Wadsworth looked annoyed. “So I may take cream instead of cod liver oil, doctor.”
“If you prefer it,” he answered carelessly. “Miss Tessa, you are a Mystic.”
Tessa liked to watch the motion of his fingers; his hands were small, shapely, and every movement of them struck her as an apt quotation. She was learning as much of himself from his hands as from his face.
“Now I must go and scold Felix Harrison,” he said rising. “A teaspoonful in a wineglass of water three times a day, Mrs. Wadsworth! He had an attack last night and cheated me out of my dreams. Do you know him, Mystic? If he do not leave off brain work he will make a fool of himself. A gold spoon would not have hurt him.”
He turned suddenly facing Tessa as they stood alone in the hall; he was seriousness itself now; a look of care had settled over his features. He was not a “big boy,” he was a man, undisciplined, it is true, but a man to whom life meant many disappointments and hard work.
“What is the matter with you? Do you ever go to sleep? If you do not give up thinking and take to nonsense and novels, I shall be called to take you through a nervous fever. Mind, I am in earnest. Don’t spend too much time in washing the disciples’ feet either; it is very charming to be St. Theresa, but you are not strong enough.”
“Thank you. I am well. Is Sue at home?”