Breakfast was then served and Lady Thicknesse presided at the table.
She took care to have Sir Bridgnorth beside her, and they seemed the most cheerful persons present, for the absence of the three other ladies cast a gloom over the rest of the party.
Meanwhile Doctor Spencer was with Mrs. Calverley in her dressing-room, she having given orders that he should be brought there immediately on his arrival.
An elderly man, with white hair, jetty eyebrows and black eyes. The expression of his countenance was kindly and composed, his accents agreeable, and his manner singularly pleasing. All his patients liked him.
Mrs. Calverley had been a great favourite with the doctor, and he had hitherto had a very high opinion of her, founded not only upon his own notion of her character, but on the praises bestowed upon her by her late husband.
She thought his manner less cordial than it used to be, but she was so troubled she could scarcely judge.
“I am very sorry Miss Calverley is ill,” he said, taking a seat. “What is the matter with her?”
“I can't exactly tell,” she rejoined. “I have not yet seen her this morning. We were all dancing on the lawn rather late last evening, and she may have taken cold.”
“Dancing on the lawn!” exclaimed Doctor Spencer shaking his head. “That was imprudent. Mildred is delicate. She has got a chill, I suppose?”
“I can't tell. Her maid came to me in the middle of the night, and said Miss Calverley felt very sick and ill, so I sent her a restorative. She took a few drops of eau de luce, as I understood, and I thought she was better, for I heard nothing more till the morning, when I learnt that the sickness was not gone, so I sent for you.”