“I trust you are not ill, Mrs. Landray?” he said.
“I? Oh, no, Mr. Benson—pray come in.”
The doctor grinned at Virginia, who gave him a slightly embarrassed glance; and Benson noting it, felt somehow that he was in the way; yet he followed the physician into the hall and closed the door. In the library, Dr. Harrison promptly divested himself of his outer coat and fell to warming his hands before the fire. Benson stood at a little distance fingering the rim of his hat, and wondering who was ill since it was not Virginia.
“You must have had a very disagreeable ride, doctor,” Virginia was saying.
“I'll leave Jacob to speak of that; he couldn't have enjoyed it any more than I did.” He smiled again; then picking up his case of medicines he quitted the room.
“Won't you come nearer the fire, Mr. Benson?” said Virginia; her words were civil enough, but there was the old hostility in her manner, which Benson had never been able to explain.
“I rather fear I've chosen a poor time for my call,” he observed.
“If it is to see Mrs. Walsh—”
“It is to see Mrs. Walsh,” he replied.
“She is not well.”