Part 23 (1/2)

”Yes. Frightful, isn't it? Lord bless me, we're here to-day and gone to-morrow.”

”True, very true!”

”Sir Francis has a high opinion of you.”

The doctor looked a little foolish. ”Everything was done that could be done, Mr. Trefusis; but Mrs. Jansenius was very anxious that no stone should be left unturned. She was good enough to say that her sole reason for wis.h.i.+ng me to call in Sir Francis was that you should have no cause to complain.”

”Indeed!”

”An excellent mother! A sad event for her! Ah, yes, yes! Dear me! A very sad event!”

”Most disagreeable. Such a cold day too. Pleasanter to be in heaven than here in such weather, possibly.”

”Ah!” said the doctor, as if much sound comfort lay in that. ”I hope so; I hope so; I do not doubt it. Sir Francis did not permit us to tell her, and I, of course, deferred to him. Perhaps it was for the best.”

”You would have told her, then, if Sir Francis had not objected?”

”Well, there are, you see, considerations which we must not ignore in our profession. Death is a serious thing, as I am sure I need not remind you, Mr. Trefusis. We have sometimes higher duties than indulgence to the natural feelings of our patients.”

”Quite so. The possibility of eternal bliss and the probability of eternal torment are consolations not to be lightly withheld from a dying girl, eh? However, what's past cannot be mended. I have much to be thankful for, after all. I am a young man, and shall not cut a bad figure as a widower. And now tell me, doctor, am I not in very bad repute upstairs?”

”Mr. Trefusis! Sir! I cannot meddle in family matters. I understand my duties and never over step them.” The doctor, shocked at last, spoke as loftily as he could.

”Then I will go and see Mr. Jansenius,” said Trefusis, getting off the table.

”Stay, sir! One moment. I have not finished. Mrs. Jansenius has asked me to ask--I was about to say that I am not speaking now as the medical adviser of this family; but although an old friend--and--ahem! Mrs.

Jansenius has asked me to ask--to request you to excuse Mr. Jansenius, as he is prostrated by grief, and is, as I can--as a medical man--a.s.sure you, unable to see anyone. She will speak to you herself as soon as she feels able to do so--at some time this evening. Meanwhile, of course, any orders you may give--you must be fatigued by your journey, and I always recommend people not to fast too long; it produces an acute form of indigestion--any orders you may wish to give will, of course, be attended to at once.”

”I think,” said Trefusis, after a moment's reflection, ”I will order a hansom.”

”There is no ill-feeling,” said the doctor, who, as a slow man, was usually alarmed by prompt decisions, even when they seemed wise to him, as this one did. ”I hope you have not gathered from anything I have said--”

”Not at all; you have displayed the utmost tact. But I think I had better go. Jansenius can bear death and misery with perfect fort.i.tude when it is on a large scale and hidden in a back slum. But when it breaks into his own house, and attacks his property--his daughter was his property until very recently--he is just the man to lose his head and quarrel with me for keeping mine.”

The doctor was unable to cope with this speech, which conveyed vaguely monstrous ideas to him. Seeing Trefusis about to leave, he said in a low voice: ”Will you go upstairs?”

”Upstairs! Why?”

”I--I thought you might wish to see--” He did not finish the sentence, but Trefusis flinched; the blank had expressed what was meant.

”To see something that was Henrietta, and that is a thing we must cast out and hide, with a little superst.i.tious mumming to save appearances.

Why did you remind me of it?”

”But, sir, whatever your views may be, will you not, as a matter of form, in deference to the feelings of the family--”

”Let them spare their feelings for the living, on whose behalf I have often appealed to them in vain,” cried Trefusis, losing patience. ”d.a.m.n their feelings!” And, turning to the door, he found it open, and Mrs.

Jansenius there listening.

Trefusis was confounded. He knew what the effect of his speech must be, and felt that it would be folly to attempt excuse or explanation. He put his hands into his pockets, leaned against the table, and looked at her, mutely wondering what would follow on her part.