"I always come through here," said my host, "after passing the town. It gives the olfactories a new sensation. This, you observe, is the place where I physic the people."
"Have you many patients, Doctor?" I inquired.
"Not very many; but, considering that I go sometimes a hundred miles or so to see the suffering sinners, I have quite enough to satisfy me. Not much competition, you know. But come, we have some lunch waiting for us in the next room, and Sophy will be growing impatient."
A lady, eh?
The room into which the Doctor ushered me was neatly furnished. On the walls were hung some prints and paintings of fruits and animals and flowers, and in the centre stood a small round table covered with dishes carefully placed on a snowy cloth.
All very nice, but who's Sophy?
The Doctor tinkled a little bell, the tones of which told that it was silver; and then, all radiant with smiles and beaming with good-nature, Sophy entered. A strange apparition.
"This is my housekeeper," said the Doctor, in explanation; "speak to the American, Sophy."
And, without embarrassment or pausing for an instant, she advanced and bade me welcome, addressing me in fair English, and extending at the same time a delicate little hand, which peeped out from cuffs of eider-down. "I am glad," said she, "to see the American. I have been looking through the window at him ever since he left the ship."
"Now, Sophy," said the Doctor, "let us see what you have got us for lunch."