CHAPTER XXXVIII. SCHEMING
They sat late over their wine, and telling the servants to go to bed, Grenfell ordered that he should not be called before noon on the next day.
According to custom, his serrant had left his letters by his bedside, and then retired noiselessly, and without disturbing him. It was already late in the afternoon when Grenfell awoke. The first note he opened was a short one from Sir Within, begging to excuse himself from the expected happiness of receiving Mr. Grenfell that day at dinner, as a sudden attack of his old enemy the gout had just laid him up in bed. “If I have only my usual fortune,” added he, “my seizure will be a brief one, and I may soon again reckon on the pleasure of seeing you here.”
The tidings of the illness was corroborated by Grenfell’s valet, who saw the doctor travelling to Dalradern with all the speed of post-horses.
The thought of a courtship that ushered in a fit of the gout was just the sort of drollery that suited Grenfell’s taste, and as he lay he laughed in derision of the old man and his schemes of future happiness. He fancied himself telling the story at his club, and he dwelt on the opportunity it would afford to talk of “Wardle” as his friend – one whose eccentricities he had therefore a perfect right to dish-up for the amusement of all others.
“Take this,” said he, giving the note to his servant, “to Mr. Ladarelle’s room;” and, fancying to himself the varied moods with which that young gentleman would con over the intelligence, he lay back again in his bed.
There was no friendship – there was no reason for any – in the apparent interest he had taken in Ladarelle. It was not of the slightest moment to him which of the two, if either, should marry Kate O’Hara, save as to with whom he should stand best, and be most likely to be well received by in the future. Were she to marry Sir Within, the house would, in all likelihood, be closed to him. The old minister was too well versed in worldly matters not to cut off all the traditions of the past. He’s sure either to introduce her into life under the auspices of some of his own high connexions, or to live totally estranged from all society. “In either case, they are lost to me. Should she be married to Ladarelle, I – as the depositary of all that was secret in the transaction – I must needs have my influence. The house will of necessity be open to me, and I shall make of it what I please.” By this last reflection Grenfell summed up what his experience of life had largely supplied him with – that is, an inordinate liking for those establishments in which a large fortune is allied with something which disqualifies the possessors from taking their rightful position in society. In his estimation, there were no such pleasant houses as those where there was a “screw loose,” either in the conduct, the character, or the antecedents of the owners.
These houses were a sort of asylum for that large nomade population of highly amusing qualities and no characters, the men who had not “done” everything, but “done” everybody, and of women still more dubious. In these houses the style of living was usually splendid. Wit has a sort of natural affinity for good cookery, and Beauty knows all the value of the “costly setting” which splendour confers. Last of all, there was that perfect liberty – the freedom from all the discipline of correcter establishments – which gave to every guest some prerogative of a master. You came as you liked, went as you liked, and very often, too, introduced whom you liked. What more could a man do if he were the rightful owner? Now, Grenfell was free of many such houses, but in none was he supreme. There was not one wherein his authority was dominant and his word a law. This he ambitioned; he craved impatiently for the time he could say to the men in his club, “I’ll take you down with me to Ladarelle’s —I’ll show you some real cock shooting – I’ll give you a day or two at Dalradern.” Would not that be fame – distinction – triumph? Ladarelle, too, was a man made by nature for such a part – careless, extravagant, sensual, fond of amusement, without caring in the least for the characters of those who contributed towards it, and inherently vain and open to the coarsest flattery. With him, therefore, Grenfell anticipated little trouble; with her he was by no means so sure. She puzzled him, and she seemed determined not to afford him any opportunity of knowing more of her. Her avoidance of him was plain and unmistakable.
“Perhaps she fears, perhaps she distrusts me,” thought he. “I’ll take the earliest moment to assure her she need do neither, but may make me her friend implicitly.” He understood a good deal by that same word, which in ordinary life is not imputed to friendship. In fact, by friendship, he – as a great many others do – simply meant conspiracy. Thinking and reflecting in this vein, he lay, when the door opened, and young Ladarelle, in dressing-gown and slippers, entered.
“What’s the meaning of all this, Grenfell?” said he. “My fellow, Fisk, who is just come over, says that Sir Within is perfectly well; he was in the stable-yard this morning at seven o’clock, and that it is the ward, Mademoiselle herself, is ill.”
“He won’t have us at dinner, that’s all I know,” said Grenfell, yawning carelessly.
“He says nothing whatever about me; scarcely civil, I think, considering I am supposed to be his guest.”
“I’ll give you a dinner. You’ll pay me with interest one of these days, when you come to that estate.”
“That I will.”
“Do you know, as I lay here this last hour, I have been plotting out the sort of life a man could cut out for himself in a place like this. You are the sort of fellow to have the very pleasantest house in England.”
“I should like to try.”
“If you try, you’ll win. Shall I tell you, Master Dolly, the quality which first attracted me towards you?”
“What was it?”
“It was this. You are one of the very few young fellows I ever met who was not infected with a slavish worship of the titled classes. How, being a Cambridge man, you escaped it, I don’t know; but you have escaped it.”
“You’re right there,” said Dolly; but the colour that mounted so suddenly to his cheek, seemed to imply a certain confusion in making the assertion. “You know we had a peerage once in the family, and it is a hobby of my governor’s to try and revive it. He offered the present people to contest any two of the Opposition seats, and proposed to myself to go into the House; but I told him flatly, I’d rather get into Graham’s than into Parliament.”
“A much harder thing to do!”
“You’re in Graham’s, ain’t you?”
“Yes; and so shall you be next ballot, if you really wish for it!”
“What a trump you are! Do you know, Grenfell, I can’t make it out at all that I never met you before?”
“I’m some twelve or fifteen years your senior,” said the other, and a slight twitching of the mouth showed a certain irritation as he spoke; “a few years separates men as essentially as a whole hemisphere.”
“I suppose so.”
“Town life, too, moves in such a routine, that when a man comes to my age, he no more makes a new acquaintance than he acquires a new sensation.”
“And, stranger still,” continued Dolly, with that persistence that pertains to ill breeding, “I never so much as heard of you.”
“I feel ashamed of my obscurity!” said Grenfell, and his pale cheek became mottled with red.
“No, it ain’t that. I meant only to say that I never heard of any Grenfells but the Piccadilly fellows, Cox and Grenfells! ‘None genuine but signed by us.’ Ha, ha, ha!” and Dolly laughed at his drollery, and the other joined in the mirth quite sufficiently not to attract any especial attention. “Not relatives, I presume?” added Dolly, still laughing.
“Delighted if they were!” said Grenfell, with a sickly smile. “I don’t think the dividends would smell of curry powder!”
“That’s what Cecil St. John says: ‘Let the greatest scoundrel in England only leave me his money, and I’ll honour his memory.’ Do you know St. John?”
“One of my most intimate friends.”
“I am dying to know him! Grog Davis says he’s the only man that ever took the wind out of his sails.”
“I’ll have him to dinner when I go up to town, and get you to meet him,” said Grenfell. “It must be on a Sunday, though, for Cecil shuns all others, which he calls dun-days, to distinguish from Sundays.”
“I’d like to wipe off every shilling he owes. I’d like to set a fellow like that clear with the world.”
“I’ll tell him you said so. It will go a very long way towards acquiring his esteem.”
“Well, I declare it’s a thing I’d do, if I had my property. I’ve heard wonderful stories about him.”
“And he could tell you still more wonderful ones himself. He’s one of those men” – here Grenfell’s voice became authoritative and collected – “one of those men who, if he saw himself in such a position as yours, would no more doubt as to what he would do, than he would hesitate taking a fair fence in a fox-hunt.”
“And what would he do in my place?”
“He’d reason out the thing, somewhat in this way: ‘If I suffer the old cove to marry this girl, he’ll either hamper the estate with a heavy settlement, or, mayhap, alienate it altogether. I’ll marry her myself, or, if she’ll not consent, I’ll carry her off. Abduction looks very big in the law-books, but it’s a light offence, except where the woman is intractable.’”
“And, would you carry her off?”
“St. John would, I’ll take my oath on it!”
“And not marry her?”
“That’s as it might be, and if she insisted; for he has three other wives still living.”
“But, is the thing possible?”
“Possible! Why, it’s done every week of the year in Ireland.”
“Ay, but we’re not in Ireland, unfortunately.”
“That’s true; neither are we in France; but it was a French cook dressed that ‘supreme’ we ate yesterday.”
“I see what you mean,” said he, pondering slowly over the other’s words. “You think one might get fellows who understand how this sort of thing is to be done?”
“If I don’t mistake greatly, I know where to-go for the very man you want. In an excursion I once made with Vyner in the west of Ireland, we rambled into a wild district of Donegal, where in a lonely region we chanced on a little inn. It is a flattery to call it an inn. It was a small thatched cabin standing by itself in the midst of the mountains; there was not another habitation, I’m certain, within ten miles of it. The fellow who kept it was as rank a rebel as ever graced the gallows; and made no secret of his treason either, but owned it boldly and impudently. I had more than one discussion with him, and learned that the rascal had all the shrewdness and low cunning that pertains to that class of his countrymen. He had not, however, been well treated by his party, and he was not at all indisposed to betray them if he could see his way to secure his own advantage by it. At all events, it was clear to me, that for a case which required craft, daring, and no interference of scruples of any kind, this fellow was eminently suited; and I have often thought, if I needed a man for an enterprise where the law must be broken, and the penalty incurred a gaol and a long imprisonment, I’d go and look up my friend in Donegal as the man for the occasion – not to say that his house would be the very place to afford a refuge beyond all risk of discovery.”
Ladarelle listened with deep attention throughout, and when Gren-fell had finished, said: “What do you mean by a refuge beyond all discovery?”
“Simply, that for some short time, marry or not, you must be able to baffle pursuit, and for such a purpose I’d back this spot in the wilds of Donegal against the kingdom.”
“Suppose we were to fail?”
“We can’t fail; she goes willingly – or, if not, unwillingly; but failure is out of the question. Your object is, that she should not be Lady Wardle, is it not so?”
“Yes, undoubtedly.”
“And to secure this, it is worth while incurring some risk?”
“Certainly; but I should like to know the extent of that risk.”
“I’m no lawyer, and can’t tell you what class of misdemeanor the law makes it; not to say that the offence is one which differs according to the judge who tries it; but the question to which you will haye to look is this: If the girl be satisfied that she is really married, however grieved the old man may be, he will never disturb that fact. He’ll shut himself up in his castle, and let his beard grow. A great shock at his age lasts for the remainder of life, and he’ll nurse his grief till it lays him in the grave.”
“Then there must be a marriage?”
“Some sort of marriage, Irish or Scotch, they have them of all sorts and complexions; but English law smashes them, just to show these poor Celts in what a barbarism they are living, and that even their most solemn contracts are a farce, if not ratified by us here.”
“So that I could marry again if I wished it?”
“Of course you could. Why, scores of fellows about town have gone through that sort of humbug. Don’t you know Lawson – Jim Lawson? Well, he married his sister’s governess before he married Lady Lucy King; and they wanted to make a fuss about it; but it was proved that it was only a lark on his part, though she was quite serious about it; and the priest, too, was only in deacon’s orders, or it was after canonical hours, and it was all irregular, even to the ring on her finger, which Harry Bushe said was copper, and so the Lords smashed it, as they always do these Irish things, and Jimmy married the other woman.”
“I wish there was to be no marriage at all.”
“Perhaps you do; perhaps you’d like it better if old Sir Within would have the politeness to die off and give you no further trouble?”
“Ah, if he would!”
“But, as he won’t – as he is firmly bent not merely on living longer, but actually taking measures to make himself an unpleasant memory when he does go, I suspect you ought to look sharp to your own interests, Master Dolly. But, after all, I find myself pressing like an advocate in a case where the very utmost I ought to do should be to advise as a friend. You know by this time all I think on this matter. It is for you to follow the advice or reject it. Meanwhile, I mean to get up and have a walk before dinner.”
“Just one thing more – as to this Irish fellow you speak of. Would he take all the risks – the legal risks – if he were well paid for it?”
“I think it’s very likely he would. I don’t think he’ll bind himself to go to the drop exactly; but I take it he’ll not boggle about a reasonable term of imprisonment, and perhaps ‘hard labour.’”
“Will you write for him, then?”
“Not without you are fully determined to employ him. If you pledge me your word to this, I will write.”
“If I pay him – ”
“No, no, I’ll have none of that! These Irish fellows, even in their most questionable dealings, have a point of honour-sense about them, that makes them very dangerous men to deal with. Let them only suspect any intention of a slight, and their old Spanish blood, I suppose it is, takes fire at once.”
“Let me have a night to think it over.”
“Take a week, take a month, if Sir Within will give it to you. You are your own master, and need not ask for time from any one.”
“I’d like to reflect well on it. It is too serious a thing to do without good consideration.”
“Do so by all means, and begin at once, for I want to ring for my servant and have my bath.”
“I wish you’d have a little more patience; one can’t decide on a thing of this sort in five minutes.”
“Who asks you, my dear fellow – who presses you? I only beg to be allowed to get up and dress myself, and a not very unreasonable request, seeing that it is close on five o’clock, and you have been here since three.”
“Well, I’ll do it, come what may of it. I’ll do it.”
“Take the night to consider it.”
“No, I am resolved on it. I’ll do it.”
“Very well; we are too late for the post to-night, but I’ll write to this man after dinner, and by that time you will have fully made up your mind. Now go, or I’ll begin to regret the day and the hour I ever thought of giving you counsel.”
“You are the most impatient fellow I ever met in my life,” said Ladarelle, as he arose reluctantly, and with unwilling steps sauntered out of the room.
CHAPTER XXXIX. WITH DOCTORS
On the evening of the same day, Sir Within sat alone in his grand old dining-room. The servants had withdrawn and left him in solitary splendour, for the massive plate glittered on the sideboard, and the blaze of many wax-lights illuminated the three or four great pictures of Rubens’ on the walls, and sparkled over the richly-cut glass that figured amongst the desert, and there, amidst all, sat that old man – pale, wan, and careworn – to all seeming several years older than one short week ago. A small table at his side was littered with letters and law papers; but though he had gone for them to his study, he never noticed them, so deeply was his mind bent on other thoughts. At last he looked at his watch, and then arising, he rang the bell.
“Doctor Price is still above stairs?” said he, in a tone of inquiry.
“Yes, Sir Within.”
“And you are quite certain you told him to come to me before he left the Castle?”
“Yes, Sir Within.”
“That will do,” said he, with a sigh.
Scarcely had the servant closed the door than he re-opened it to announce Doctor Price, a small pock-marked sharp-featured man, with an intensely keen eye, and a thin compressed mouth.
“Well, Doctor, well?” said Sir Within, as he came forward towards him with a manner of great anxiety.
“Well, Sir Within Wardle, it is as I suspected, a case of concussion; there’s no organic mischief – no lesion.”
“What’s a lesion?”
“There is no fracture, nor any pressure, so far as I can detect; but there is very grave injury of another sort. There is concussion of the brain.”
“And is there danger – be frank, Doctor, is there danger?”
“Certainly there is danger; but I would not pronounce it to be imminent danger.”
“London has some men of great eminence, which of them all would you select to consult with on such a case? I am certain that you would wish a consultation.”
“I have no objection to one, Sir Within, and I would name Sir Henry Morland, as the first man in his profession.”
“Then write for him, Sir – write at once. Here, in this room, here” – and he opened a door into a small cabinet – “you will find everything you want.”
“Certainly; I obey your instructions. I will write immediately; but say in what terms. The young lady is your ward – am I to style her by that title or by her name?”
Sir Within blushed, but it was more in anger than shame; the barest approach to any question of Kate’s position jarred upon his feelings like an insinuation, and he fixed a steadfast stare on the Doctor before he replied, to assure himself that there was no covert impertinence in the request. Apparently he was satisfied, for in a calm voice he said, “It will be unnecessary to say more than that his presence is requested by Sir Within Wildrington Wardle at Dalradem Castle, and with all the speed possible.”
While the Doctor was writing, Sir Within walked to and fro with short and hurried steps, his mouth twitched from time to time, and a nervous motion of his fingers betrayed the immense agitation that possessed him, and against which he struggled hard to subdue all outward signs. Had the occasion been a ministerial conference – had the event been one in which a bold front was called for, to cover a weak position, or affront a coming peril – the old envoy would have borne himself well and bravely; no one could have worn an easier look in a trying emergency, or better baffled the searching that would try to detect a secret misgiving. But where was all this subtlety now? Of what did it avail him? He bent before this blow as humbly as a school-girl, and soon even abandoned the attempt to dissimulate, and wrung his hands in passionate sorrow as he went.
“Will that do, then, Sir Within?” asked the Doctor, as he handed him the note he had just written.
“I have not my glass,” said he, hurriedly, while his fingers held it; “but of course it is all right. You will instruct me as to the fee – you will do whatever is necessary, and you will also, I trust, remain here. I wish you not to leave the Castle.”
“Impossible, Sir Within. Sir Godfrey Wynne is very ill, and I have a very anxious case at Glassnwyd.”
“But none of them, I will venture to say, so needful of watching as this. You have just told me how precarious these cases are. Remember, Sir, I have some claims upon you.”
“The very greatest, Sir Within. But for your munificent donation, I should never have been physician to the Wrexham Hospital.”
“I did not mean that,” said Sir Within, flushing scarlet; “I did not allude to that. I spoke of old family claims in your father’s time. Dalradem was always his staunch supporter.”
“I know it well, Sir; but a doctor owes allegiance to the very humblest of those who need him.”
“A doctor, I presume, is bound to accord the patient whatever of his time he can pay for?”
“Not to the detriment of others who are ill, Sir Within.”
“I know of no other than those under this roof, Doctor Price. I insist, therefore, that you remain here.”
“I will return before evening, Sir Within.”
“If you leave this now, Sir, you need not return.”
“Let me entreat you to moderate your warmth, and hear me.”
“Sir, I accept no lessons on the mode in which I should comport myself. My education is not, I would hope, yet to be made in this respect. You stay now, or you never re-cross this threshold.”
“Then I most respectfully take my leave, Sir.”
As he moved towards the door, Sir Within placed himself against it.
“This is conduct, Sir,” cried he, passionately, “for which I was in no way prepared. It is the first time in my life I have been a physician refuse his services to those who had the right to call for, and the ability to requite them. I will not suffer it.”
The Doctor moved his head mournfully, and muttered a few low and indistinct words.
“No, Sir, I want no apologies. I will not listen to excuses!” cried Sir Within, whose cheek was in a flame, and his eye flashing with anger. “I have done my best – my very best – to misunderstand your ‘meaning; I have tried my utmost to persuade myself that this was no intentional slight; but, apparently, Sir, you insist that I should know it, and feel it.”
“You distress me greatly, Sir Within – and all the more, that I really cannot follow you in what you imply.”
“I never imply, Sir – I declare – I assert!” and his voice was, now shrill with passion. “It is no insinuation I make – it is an open declaration – that it is in what scandalous tongues have dared to allege against this young lady’s residence under my roof is the sole pretext you have to refuse your services here. Don’t deny it, Sir; I read it in your confusion half an hour ago. You intend to build a character for high morality on this event. You know this county better than I do, and you are a better judge how far your strict virtue will be remunerative; or perhaps you fancy that I will condescend to an explanation with you.”
“No, no, Sir Within. You are too unjust – quite too unjust in all this.”
The old Baronet never heard the interruption, but went on:
“But, Sir, if I have scorned to make explanations to the first gentry of my neighbourhood, it is not likely I will descend to them for the satisfaction of a village doctor. Go, Sir – go! but at your peril one word to gratify the slanderous temper of your clients; for if I hear that you have dared to insinuate, however faintly – ”
The Doctor did not wait for him to finish, but hurried down the stairs, crossed the hall, and hastened to the stable-yard; and in a very few minutes the sharp sound of his horse’s feet on the ground declared that he was off at speed.
Sir Within had sunk into the chair beside the door from which the Doctor had just issued, powerless and overcome. The outburst of passion, what had been but one exit of an overwhelming sorrow, had run its course, and now he sat there wretched and forlorn. Of his late altercation he remembered positively nothing. Something had occurred – something that excited and agitated him. The Doctor had said, or somebody had said, he knew not what; but it shadowed forth a sort of reflection on him – for Heaven knows what; and he wiped the cold perspiration from his brow, and tried to collect himself. At last he arose and rang the bell.
“Will you tell Doctor Price I should like to speak to him,” said he, in his usual bland tone.
“The Doctor is gone, Sir Within; he left the Castle half an hour ago.”
He nodded; and the servant retired. After a little while he rang again.
“Let Doctor Price know I wish to see him before he goes away,” said he, in a faint voice.
“The Doctor left the Castle some time back, Sir Within,” said the man, in some astonishment.
“Ah! – very true – I remember: that will do.” Once more alone, he tried to remember what had just occurred – but he could not; and, with weary steps, he mounted the stairs slowly towards the corridor where the sick chamber stood.
“She is sleeping, Sir Within,” said the nurse, who sat outside the door to enforce silence – “sleeping, but dreaming and wandering on continually; and such strange things, too, she says.”
“What does she talk of, nurse?” said he, scarcely conscious of what he asked.
“She be talking, Sir, of being a-gathering seaweed on the rocks, and crying out to some one to take care – that the tide is gaining fast. ‘It will be soon in on us!’ she cries every moment; ‘make haste, Patsey, or we’ll lose it all?’ And then she’ll wring her hair, as if there was water in it, and tie it up short afterwards on the back of her head. I never see a young lady go on the same way before!”
“Wandering? – mere wandering?” said Sir Within, faintly. “Of course it be, Sir Within; but ain’t it a strange sort of wandering for one bred and brought up as she was?”
“When people rave, they rave,” said Sir Within, curtly. “Yes, Sir, so they does; but people born to every comfort and the like seldom talks of going out to look for firewood, or to bring home the goats from the mountains; and that poor sweet dear there won’t think of anything else.”
“You are a fool, ma’am, or you would never think of attaching importance to what a patient raves about in a fever. I wonder Doctor Price could not have found a more competent person.” And with this rebuke he retraced his steps, and sought his own room.
As he sat there, a servant entered with a note Doctor Price’s servant had just brought. He tore it open impatiently, and read:
“Dear Sir, – I have accidentally heard that Sir Henry Morland will be at Wrexham this evening. If it be your wish to see him at Dalradern, pray inform me by the bearer.
“Very respectfully your Servant,
“Pritchard Price.”
Sir Within at once addressed a most curt and conciliatory note to Doctor Price, requesting to see him and his colleague as soon as would suit his convenience. That there was something for which an apology was needed, he knew; but what it was, how it occurred, or why it occurred, was totally beyond him; his note, however, was polite in every respect, and its conclusion actually friendly. Doctor Price, however, did not make his appearance, but towards midnight a post-chaise drove into the court-yard, and the great town Physician entered the castle. He was a short, stout-built, heavy-browed man, stern, and almost peremptory in his manner, reserving all his mind for his patient, and scarcely condescending to notice the friends of the sick person.
“Who is it?” asked he bluntly of Sir Within, as the old envoy politely handed him a chair.
“My ward, Sir Henry, a young lady not fully seventeen.”
“Humph! I did not know you were married.”
“I am not married, Sir. I was not aware that we were discussing that question.”
“Let me speak with your sister, then?”
“I have no sister, Sir.”
“I don’t care what the relative is – cousin, aunt, grandmother – if not too old.”
“I reject, Sir, I have no female relative here to whom I can refer you. I shall send for my housekeeper, however, who is a most intelligent person;” and he rang the bell hurriedly.
“And this ward – strange thing a ward in the house of an unmarried man – what’s her name?”
“Miss O’Hara.”
“O’Hara! O’Hara! One of the Antrim family?”
“No, Sir; no connexion even.”
“Oh, this is the housekeeper! Show me your patient, and tell me about the case as we go along;” and abruptly returning Sir Within’s salutation, he left the room, and proceeded up-stairs. “Yes, yes,” he muttered, as the housekeeper recounted the symptoms. “Yes; I know all that: but I want to hear how it began. Was there any shock – any accident? None? Mere fatigue – a long ride – over-exertion – a very hot day! Yes, yes, quite common – answers at first collectively, and then goes off raving – that’s enough!”
The rough ungracious man, abrupt of speech, and actually rude in manner, became gentle as a woman as he stole up to the bedside and laid his hand on the hot and burning forehead. She raised her hand, tremulous with fever, and placed it upon his, and said: “Yes; the pain is there!”
“Let us see if we cannot cure it,” said he softly, as he sat down beside the bed.
She turned her large lustrous eyes upon him – brightened as they were in the glow of fever – and stared at him steadfastly and long. He was counting her pulse, and she watched his lips as they faintly stirred, as though she could read her fate in their motion.
“Well?” cried she – “well?”
“Well, you are about to get better, my dear child; the fever is decreasing, and your head freer.”
“Yes,” said she, hurriedly, “the horrid fancies that torment me are passing away, and I can think now. Who are you?” asked she, after a pause.
“I am your doctor.”
“But your name? I never saw you before.”
“I know that! This is my first visit to you. My name is Morland.”
“Morland – Morland – I have read that name in the newspapers. Sir William, or Sir something.”
“Sir Henry Morland.”
“Physician to the King, I declare,” said she, raising herself on one arm to look at him; “and you have come here, all this way, to see me!”