He rang the inevitable bell, and gave word to the maid: “Tell Dr. Leonard that Miss Willis has decided to continue her treatment with me.”
Now, in the light of the foregoing experience, it was strange that during the next week Miss Willis’s throat should require considerably more attention than it ever had under the celebrated specialist’s personal ministrations. She made five visits to Dr. Carter, but it could not be said that he had advanced an inch toward the opening she had made. His voice and manner were a bit more sympathetic––and that was all.
Miss Willis seemed to find a keen delight in the fact that her identity, for the time being, 405 was erased by a number; during each visit she made it a point to learn what this number was, treating the matter in a sportive spirit, unbending her wit to ridicule a practice which failed to discriminate among the host of patients who came to see Dr. Leonard.
“For our purposes,” Dr. Carter tolerantly explained, “a number more conveniently identifies our patients; their differences are only pathological. A name is easily forgotten, Miss Willis, unless there is some unusual circumstance associated with it, to impress it upon the mind.”
She was curious to learn what unusual circumstance had caused him to retain her name, but lacked the temerity to ask. She would have been amazed, unbelieving, had he told her that it was her beauty; that he was clinging rather desperately to the unlovely number, which had no individuality and whose features were altogether neutral and negative.
The change in his manner, when it came, almost took away her breath. It was on the occasion of her last visit. After the familiar preliminary examination, instead of proceeding at 406 once with the treatment, as had been his invariable custom, Dr. Carter walked over to his desk and sat down. For a space he soberly regarded her.
“Miss Willis,” said he, presently, “there is nothing whatever the matter with your throat.”
She gasped. This calm statement brought confusingly to her mind the circumstance that she had forgotten her throat and its ailment, when, of all considerations, the afflicted member should have been uppermost in her mind. Dr. Carter had not, however, and he must be wondering why she continued to come after the occasion to do so no longer existed. He at once relieved her embarrassment, though.
“I suppose,” he said, and she felt a thrill at the note of regret in his voice, “that you will be glad to escape from this hive?”
“No, I shan’t,” she said, with unnecessary warmth. This involuntary denial surprised even herself, and she blushed.