Part 19 (2/2)
”You have not even,” the doctor persisted, ”the appearance of a man who has been used to excesses of any sort.”
”Good old stock, ours,” his visitor observed carelessly. ”Plenty of two-bottle men behind my generation.”
”You have also gained courage since the days when you fled from England.
You slept at the Hall last night?”
”Where else? I also, if you want to know, occupied my own bedchamber--with results,” Dominey added, throwing his head a little back, to display the scar on his throat, ”altogether insignificant.”
”That's just your luck,” the doctor declared. ”You've no right to have gone there without seeing me; no right, after all that has pa.s.sed, to have even approached your wife.”
”You seem rather a martinet as regards my domestic affairs,” Dominey observed.
”That's because I know your history,” was the blunt reply.
Uninvited Dominey seated himself in an easy-chair.
”You were never my friend, Doctor,” he said. ”Let me suggest that we conduct this conversation on a purely professional basis.”
”I was never your friend,” came the retort, ”because I have known you always as a selfish brute; because you were married to the sweetest woman on G.o.d's earth, gave up none of your bad habits, frightened her into insanity by reeling home with another man's blood on your hands, and then stayed away for over ten years instead of making an effort to repair the mischief you had done.”
”This,” observed Dominey, ”is history, dished up in a somewhat partial fas.h.i.+on. I repeat my suggestion that we confine our conversation to the professional.”
”This is my house,” the other rejoined, ”and you came to see me. I shall say exactly what I like to you, and if you don't like it you can get out. If it weren't for Lady Dominey's sake, you shouldn't have pa.s.sed this threshold.”
”Then for her sake,” Dominey suggested in a softer tone, ”can't you forget how thoroughly you disapprove of me? I am here now with only one object: I want you to point out to me any way in which we can work together for the improvement of my wife's health.”
”There can be no question of a partners.h.i.+p between us.”
”You refuse to help?”
”My help isn't worth a snap of the fingers. I have done all I can for her physically. She is a perfectly sound woman. The rest depends upon you, and you alone, and I am not very hopeful about it.”
”Upon me?” Dominey repeated, a little taken aback.
”Fidelity,” the doctor grunted, ”is second nature with all good women.
Lady Dominey is a good woman, and she is no exception to the rule. Her brain is starved because her heart is aching for love. If she could believe in your repentance and reform, if any atonement for the past were possible and were generously offered, I cannot tell what the result might be. They tell me that you are a rich man now, although heaven knows, when one considers what a lazy, selfish fellow you were, that sounds like a miracle. You could have the great specialists down. They couldn't help, but it might salve your conscience to pay them a few hundred guineas.”
”Would you meet them?” Dominey asked anxiously. ”Tell me whom to send for?”
”Pooh! Those days are finished with me,” was the curt reply. ”I would meet none of them. I am a doctor no longer. I have become a villager. I go to see Lady Dominey as an old friend.”
”Give me your advice,” Dominey begged. ”Is it of any use sending for specialists?”
”Just for the present, none at all.”
”And what about that horrible woman, Mrs. Unthank?”
<script>