Part 3 (1/2)
”You are so kind, Mrs. Simmons,” Mary said gratefully, feeling the gentleness and dexterity with which the woman tried on her new garments without once jarring the broken arm.
”I'm kind enough to those who take me the proper way,” said Simmons, greatly pleased with Mary's prefix of Mrs., which was brevet rank, since Simmons had never married. It would have made a great difference to Mary's comfort at this time if she had been sufficiently ill-advised to call Simmons without a prefix, as Lady Anne did.
Dr. Carruthers had called to see Mary the morning after the accident. He had interviewed his patient in the morning-room, and was pa.s.sing out through the hall when Lady Anne's voice over the banisters summoned him to her presence.
”You can give me a little while, Dr. Carruthers?” she said. ”I shall not be interfering with your work?”
”I am quite free”--a little colour came into his cheeks. ”The friend whose work I was doing at the House of Mercy returned last night.
Yesterday was my last day.”
”Ah! and yesterday brought you an unexpected patient. How do you find her?”
”She has less physique than she ought to have.”
”Yes, she has been underfed and overworked. I am going to alter all that. I have taken her into my house as my little companion.”
Dr. Carruthers stared in spite of himself.
”You think it very odd of me? Well, I _am_ odd, and I can afford to do what pleases me. Mary Gray is going to live here. You should know her father. A quite remarkable man, I consider him. Now, about yourself. I have heard of you, Dr. Carruthers. I have heard that you are a very clever young man and devoted to your work, that you have all the knowledge of the schools at your fingertips, but very little experience, and no practice to speak of.”
”Excuse me, Lady Anne. I was three years house surgeon at the Good Samaritan; and I have done a great deal of work since I have been here.
I will confess that my patients have been of a poor cla.s.s.”
”Who have not paid you a penny. I don't know whether you do it for philanthropy or to keep your hand in----”
”A little of both,” the young man said with a faint smile.
”But it is a good thing to do,” the old lady went on, without noticing his interpellation. ”You're spoken well of by the poor, if the rich have not heard anything about you. I know you're living beyond your means in a big house, hoping that a paying practice will come to you. My dear man, it never will, so long as people think you are in need of it. They like Dr. Pownall at their doors with his carriage and pair, even if he can only give them five minutes. Pownall forgot himself with me. I remember his father--a very decent, respectable man who used to grow cabbages. That's nothing against Pownall--creditable to him, I should say. Still, he hadn't time to listen to my symptoms, and he was rude. 'A woman of your age,' he said. I should like to know who told Dr. Pownall my age. A lady has no age. 'It's time you retired,' I said to him. 'I don't think of it,' said he; 'not for ten years yet. My patients won't hear of it.' 'You're greedy,' said I; 'if you weren't your patients might go to Hong Kong.' He thought it was a joke--hadn't time to find out whether I was serious or not. I made him, Dr. Carruthers. It's time for him to retire now. I shall mention to all my friends that you are my body-physician.”
She spoke like one of the Royal Family. But Dr. Carruthers had no inclination to laugh. His eyes were dim as he murmured his acknowledgments. It was fame, it was fortune, in those parts to be approved by Lady Anne Hamilton. Hitherto she had been understood to swear by Dr. Pownall.
”It means a deal to us, Lady Anne,” he said, stumbling over his words.
”We had made up our minds to give up the big house and look for a slum practice. The children--I have two living--are not very strong, any more than Mildred. We put all we could into the venture of taking the house.
It was our bid for fortune.”
”I wouldn't approve of it in a general way,” said Lady Anne. ”Still, it has turned out well. Will your wife be at home to-morrow afternoon? I should like to call upon her.”
”She will be delighted.”
Dr. Carruthers was regaining his self-control. He knew that the presence of Lady Anne's barouche at his door for an hour in the afternoon would be more potent in opening doors to him than if he had made the most brilliant cure on record.
Mary was with Lady Anne next day when she went to call on Mrs.
Carruthers. It was characteristic of Lady Anne that she thought to tell Jennings, the coachman, to drive up and down in front of the house and round the sides, for Dr. Carruthers' house was a corner one with a frontage to three sides. It was a hot summer day, and Jennings wondered disrespectfully what bee the old lady had got in her bonnet. Such a jangling of harness, such a flas.h.i.+ng of polished surfaces! Every window that commanded the three sides of Dr. Carruthers' house had an eye at the pane. The tidings flew from one to another that Lady Anne Hamilton was visiting Mrs. Carruthers, and was making a very long call.
Mildred was still on her sofa. She would have risen when Lady Anne came in, but the old lady prevented her. Lady Anne could be royally kind when it pleased her.
She drew a chair by the sofa and sat down. Mary, who had come in with her, listened in some wonder to Lady Anne's sympathetic questions about the children. That was something in which Mary was interested, in which Mary had knowledge and experience; but though she listened she would not have spoken a word for worlds.