CHAPTER XIII
A CALL, AND ITS CONSEQUENCE
My visitor evidently noticed my stupefaction. She must have done, or she would not have been a woman.
The reason of my sudden surprise was not because I recognized her, but on account of her perfect and amazing beauty. Every doctor sees some pretty faces in the course of practise, but having been asked to set down the chief details of this romance, I must here confess that never in all my life had I set eyes upon such a sweet and charming countenance.
I judged her to be about twenty, and the manner in which she entered the dingy consulting-room that reeked with the pungent odour of iodoform showed that, although not well dressed, she was nevertheless modest and well bred. She wore a plain, black tailor-made skirt, a trifle the worse for wear, a white cotton blouse, a small black hat, and black gloves. But her face held me fascinated; I could not take my eyes off it. It was oval, regular, with beautifully-moulded cheeks, a small, well-formed mouth, and fine arched brows, while the eyes, dark and sparkling, looked out at me half in wonder, half in fear. Hers was a kind of half-tragic beauty, a face intensely sweet in its expression, yet with a distinct touch of sadness in its composition, as though her heart were burdened by some secret.
This latter fact seemed patent to me from the very first instant of our meeting.
“Is Dr. Whitworth in?” she inquired, in a soft, rather musical voice, when I bowed and indicated a chair.
“No,” I responded, “he’s not. My name is Pickering, and I am acting for the doctor, who is away on a holiday.”
“Oh!” she ejaculated, and I thought I detected that her jaw dropped slightly, as though she were disappointed. “Will Dr. Whitworth be away long?”
“Another fortnight, I believe. He is not very well, and has gone to Cornwall. Are you one of his patients? If so, I shall be delighted to do what I can for you.”
“No,” she responded; “but my brother is, and, being taken worse, wanted to consult him.”