Put Yourself in His Place [158]
harm neither. Shall I say I found you crying over it?"
"Oh, no! no! That would make him cry too, perhaps."
"Ah, I forgot that. Grace, you are an angel."
"Ah, no. But you can tell him I am--if you think so. That will do him no great harm--will it?"
"Not an atom to him; but it will subject me to a pinch for stale news. There, give me my patient's picture, and let me go."
She kissed the little picture half-furtively, and gave it him, and let him go; only, as he went out at the door, she murmured, "Come often."
Now, when this artful doctor got outside the door, his face became grave all of a sudden, for he had seen enough to give him a degree of anxiety he had not betrayed to his interesting patient herself.
"Well, doctor?" said Mr. Carden, affecting more cheerfulness than he felt. "Nothing there beyond your skill, I suppose?"
"Her health is declining rapidly. Pale, hollow-eyed, listless, languid--not the same girl."
"Is it bodily do you think, or only mental?"
"Mental as to its cause; but bodily in the result. The two things are connected in all of us, and very closely in Miss Carden. Her organization is fine, and, therefore, subtle. She is tuned in a high key. Her sensibility is great; and tough folk, like you and me, must begin by putting ourselves in her place before we prescribe for her, otherwise our harsh hands may crush a beautiful, but too tender, flower."
"Good heavens!" said Carden, beginning to be seriously alarmed, "do you mean to say you think, if this goes on, she will be in any danger?"
"Why, if it were to go on at the same rate, it would be very serious. She must have lost a stone in weight already."
"What, my child! my sweet Grace! Is it possible her life--"
"And do you think your daughter is not mortal like other people? The young girls that are carried past your door to the churchyard one after another, had they no fathers?"
At this blunt speech the father trembled from head to foot.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
"Doctor," said Mr. Carden, "you are an old friend, and a discreet man; I will confide the truth to you."
"You may save yourself the trouble. I have watched the whole progress of this amour up to the moment when you gave them the advantage of your paternal wisdom, and made them both miserable."
"It is very unreasonable of them, to be miserable."
"Oh, lovers parted could never yet make themselves happy with reason."
"But why do you say parted? All I said was, 'No engagement till you can make a settlement: and don't compromise her in the meanwhile.' I did not mean to interdict occasional visits."
"Then why not say so? That is so like people. You made your unfavorable stipulation plain enough; but the little bit of comfort, you left that in doubt. This comes of not putting yourself in his place. I have had a talk with him about it, and he thinks he is not to show his face here till he is rich enough to purchase your daughter of you."
"But I tell you he has misunderstood me."
"Then write to him and say so."
"No, no; you take an opportunity to let him know he has really rather overrated my severity, and that I trust to his honor, and do not object to a visit--say once a week."
"It is a commission I will undertake with pleasure."
"And do you really think that will do her bodily health any good?"
Before Doctor Amboyne could reply, the piano was suddenly touched in the next room, and a sweet voice began to sing a cheerful melody. "Hush!" said Doctor Amboyne. "Surely I know that tune. Yes, I have heard THE OTHER whistle it."
"She has not sung for ever so long," remarked Mr. Carden.
"And I think I can tell you why she is singing now: look at this picture of Hope; I just told her I had a male patient afflicted with her complaint, and the quick-witted creature asked me directly if I thought this picture would do him any good. I said yes, and I'd take it to him."
"Come, doctor, that couldn't make her SING."
"Why not? Heart can speak to heart, even by a flower or a picture. The separation was complete;
"Oh, no! no! That would make him cry too, perhaps."
"Ah, I forgot that. Grace, you are an angel."
"Ah, no. But you can tell him I am--if you think so. That will do him no great harm--will it?"
"Not an atom to him; but it will subject me to a pinch for stale news. There, give me my patient's picture, and let me go."
She kissed the little picture half-furtively, and gave it him, and let him go; only, as he went out at the door, she murmured, "Come often."
Now, when this artful doctor got outside the door, his face became grave all of a sudden, for he had seen enough to give him a degree of anxiety he had not betrayed to his interesting patient herself.
"Well, doctor?" said Mr. Carden, affecting more cheerfulness than he felt. "Nothing there beyond your skill, I suppose?"
"Her health is declining rapidly. Pale, hollow-eyed, listless, languid--not the same girl."
"Is it bodily do you think, or only mental?"
"Mental as to its cause; but bodily in the result. The two things are connected in all of us, and very closely in Miss Carden. Her organization is fine, and, therefore, subtle. She is tuned in a high key. Her sensibility is great; and tough folk, like you and me, must begin by putting ourselves in her place before we prescribe for her, otherwise our harsh hands may crush a beautiful, but too tender, flower."
"Good heavens!" said Carden, beginning to be seriously alarmed, "do you mean to say you think, if this goes on, she will be in any danger?"
"Why, if it were to go on at the same rate, it would be very serious. She must have lost a stone in weight already."
"What, my child! my sweet Grace! Is it possible her life--"
"And do you think your daughter is not mortal like other people? The young girls that are carried past your door to the churchyard one after another, had they no fathers?"
At this blunt speech the father trembled from head to foot.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
"Doctor," said Mr. Carden, "you are an old friend, and a discreet man; I will confide the truth to you."
"You may save yourself the trouble. I have watched the whole progress of this amour up to the moment when you gave them the advantage of your paternal wisdom, and made them both miserable."
"It is very unreasonable of them, to be miserable."
"Oh, lovers parted could never yet make themselves happy with reason."
"But why do you say parted? All I said was, 'No engagement till you can make a settlement: and don't compromise her in the meanwhile.' I did not mean to interdict occasional visits."
"Then why not say so? That is so like people. You made your unfavorable stipulation plain enough; but the little bit of comfort, you left that in doubt. This comes of not putting yourself in his place. I have had a talk with him about it, and he thinks he is not to show his face here till he is rich enough to purchase your daughter of you."
"But I tell you he has misunderstood me."
"Then write to him and say so."
"No, no; you take an opportunity to let him know he has really rather overrated my severity, and that I trust to his honor, and do not object to a visit--say once a week."
"It is a commission I will undertake with pleasure."
"And do you really think that will do her bodily health any good?"
Before Doctor Amboyne could reply, the piano was suddenly touched in the next room, and a sweet voice began to sing a cheerful melody. "Hush!" said Doctor Amboyne. "Surely I know that tune. Yes, I have heard THE OTHER whistle it."
"She has not sung for ever so long," remarked Mr. Carden.
"And I think I can tell you why she is singing now: look at this picture of Hope; I just told her I had a male patient afflicted with her complaint, and the quick-witted creature asked me directly if I thought this picture would do him any good. I said yes, and I'd take it to him."
"Come, doctor, that couldn't make her SING."
"Why not? Heart can speak to heart, even by a flower or a picture. The separation was complete;