Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [254]
‘It’s by Sir Omicron’s advice, Dr Fillgrave. You see, this man here’ – and he nodded his head towards the doctor’s house, being still anxious not to pronounce the hideous name –‘ has known my mother’s constitution for so many years.’
‘Oh, Mr Gresham; of course, if it is wished.’
‘Yes, Dr Fillgrave, it is wished. Lunch is coming directly’; and Frank rang the bell.
‘Nothing, I thank you, Mr Gresham.’
‘Do take a glass of sherry.’
‘Nothing at all, I am very much obliged to you.’
‘Won’t you let the horses get some oats?’
‘I will return at once, if you please, Mr Gresham.’ And the doctor did return, taking with him, on this occasion, the fee that was offered to him. His experience had at any rate taught him so much.
But though Frank could do this for Lady Arabella, he could not receive Dr Thorne on her behalf. The bitterness of that interview had to be borne by herself. A messenger had been sent for him, and he was upstairs with her ladyship while his rival was receiving his congé downstairs. She had two objects to accomplish, if it might be possible: she had found that high words with the doctor were of no avail; but it might be possible that Frank could be saved by humiliation on her part. If she humbled herself before this man, would he consent to acknowledge that his niece was not the fit bride for the heir of Greshamsbury?
The doctor entered the room where she was lying on her sofa, and walking up to her with a gentle, but yet not constrained step, took the seat beside her little table, just as he had always been accustomed to do, and as though there had been no break in their intercourse.
‘Well, doctor, you see that I have come back to you,’ she said, with a faint smile.
‘Or, rather, I have come back to you. And, believe me, Lady Arabella, I am very happy to do so. There need be no excuses. You were, doubtless, right to try what other skill could do; and I hope it has not been tried in vain.’
She had meant to have been so condescending; but now all that was put quite beyond her power. It was not easy to be condescending to the doctor: she had been trying it all her life, and had never succeeded.
‘I have had Sir Omicron Pie,’ she said.
‘So I was glad to hear. Sir Omicron is a clever man, and has a good name. I always recommend Sir Omicron myself.’
‘And Sir Omicron returns the compliment,’ said she, smiling gracefully, ‘for he recommends you. He told Mr Gresham that I was very foolish to quarrel with my best friend. So now we are friends again, are we not? You see how selfish I am.’ And she put out her hand to him.
The doctor took her hand cordially, and assured her that he bore her no ill-will; that he fully understood her conduct – and that he had never accused her of selfishness. This was all very well and very gracious; but, nevertheless, Lady Arabella felt that the doctor kept the upper hand in those sweet forgivenesses. Whereas, she had intended to keep the upper hand, at least for a while, so that her humiliation might be the more effective when it did come.
And then the doctor used his surgical lore, as he well knew how to use it. There was an assured confidence about him, and an air which seemed to declare that he really knew what he was doing. These were very comfortable to his patients, but they were wanting in Dr Fillgrave. When he had completed his examinations and questions, and she had completed her little details and made her answer, she certainly was more at ease than she had been since the doctor had last left her.
‘Don’t go yet for a moment,’ she said. ‘I have one word to say to you.’
He declared that he was not the least in a hurry. He desired nothing better, he said, than to sit there and talk to her. ‘And I owe you a most sincere apology, Lady Arabella.’
‘A sincere apology!’ said she, becoming a little red. Was he going to say anything about Mary? Was he going to own that he, and Mary, and Frank had all been wrong?
‘Yes, indeed. I