He wandered out. Lord Tidmouth lingered. He seemed a little anxious.
“Is that a long story, Bill?”
“Longish,” admitted Bill.” But to help a pal, Squiffy—”
“Oh, all right,” said Lord Tidmouth resignedly.” We Tidmouths never desert a friend. Well, honk-honk!”
He smiled bravely and followed Sir Hugo.
CHAPTER IX
THE summons to William Bannister’s sick-bed had come to Sally, oddly enough, at a moment when she had just been thinking of that sufferer; for it is a curious fact that, busy woman though she was, she had found herself thinking quite a good deal about Bill in these last two weeks. And, if excuses must be made for her, let these meditations be set down to the quality in him that made him different from other men—his naive directness.
Sally, both in her native America and during her stay in England, had been called upon at fairly frequent intervals to reject the proffered hands and hearts of many men. These had conducted the negotiations in a variety of ways, but none, not even the most forceful, had affected her quite like William Bannister. There was a childlike earnestness about his wooing which she found engaging.
It seemed a pity to her that with the admirable quality of directness he should combine that other quality which above all others in this world she despised and disliked—the quality of being content to sit down and loaf his life away on inherited money. She had seen so many of these good-looking, amiable, feckless Englishmen of private means, and all her instincts rose against them. Except as a joke, they were impossible. With so much to be done in life, they did nothing.
And Bill Bannister was one of them. She liked his looks and that easy, athletic swing of his body. She found him pleasant and agreeable. But he was also bone-idle, a well-bred waster, a drone who had nothing better to do with his time than hang about seashore resorts, dangling after perfumed and peroxided females of doubtful character.
For Sally’s verdict on Lottie, pieced together from a brief acquaintance and a review of the dubious circumstances in which she had found her, was not a flattering one. She ignored the “Higginbotham “, which should have been such a hall-mark of respectability. She thoroughly disbelieved in the Higginbotham. Her views on the late Mr. Higginbotham were identical with those of Betsey Prig on her friend Sairey Gamp’s friend Mrs; Harris. Firmly and decisively, Sally had set Lottie down in the ranks of those who are so well described as “no better than they should be “.
Sometimes Sally wondered a little why it was that she should feel this odd indignation against a woman who was virtually a complete stranger. It could not be because the other had ensnared William Bannister. William Bannister and his affairs were, of course, nothing to her. So what might have seemed to a superficial investigator a straight case of jealousy was nothing of the kind. It did not matter to her a row of pins who entrapped William Bannister.
Nevertheless, every time she thought of Lottie an odd thrill of indignation passed through Sally.
And every time she thought of William Bannister wasting his time on such a woman she felt another thrill of indignation.
The whole thing was perplexing.
Her feelings, as she bowled along the Hampshire roads in Bill’s Rolls Royce to-night, were mixed. She was sorry he was not feeling well, though she much doubted whether his ailment was as severe as she had been given to understand. Men were all alike—men of Bill Bannister’s kind especially so. A pain in the toe and they thought they were dying.
Of the chance of visiting the home of Bill’s ancestors she was glad. With her American love of the practical she combined that other American love for old houses and their historic associations. She had read up the Manor, Woollam Chersey, in Stately Homes of England, and was intrigued to find that parts of it dated back to the thirteenth century, while even the more modern portions were at least Elizabethan. She looked forward to seeing on the morrow its park, its messuages, its pleasances, and the record-breaking oak planted by the actual hand of King Charles the First.
To-night, as she passed through the great gateway and bowled up the drive, there was little to be seen. Dark trees and banks of shrubs blocked what little would have been visible in the darkness. It was only when the car stopped that she realized that she had reached the house.
Sally got out and dismissed the chauffeur. She could find her way in. There was an open french window at the end of the lawn on her left, from which light proceeded. She made her way thither, and on the threshold stopped. A rather remarkable sight met her eyes. Inside, walking with the brisk step of a man in perfect health up and down a cosily furnished room, was her patient. Anyone less wasted with sickness she had never seen.
Up and down the floor paced Bill. He was smoking a cigarette. A thrill of honest indignation shot through Sally. She saw all. And in the darkness her teeth came together with a little click.
Somewhere in the room a telephone tinkled. Bill moved beyond her range of vision, but his voice came to her clearly.
“Hullo? … Grosvenor 7525? Doctor Smith’s house? … This is Mr. Bannister’s valet speaking. Can you tell me if the doctor has left? … Just before nine? … Thank you…. Hullo…. The doctor will not be returning to-night…. Yes, very serious. She will have to sit up with the patient…. Yes…. Good night.”
There came the click of the receiver being replaced, and then for some moments silence. But a few moments later there was something for Sally to see again. Her patient had apparently left the room during this interval, for he now reappeared wearing a dark silk dressing-gown. He then proceeded to arrange a pillow and lie down on the sofa. And after that he seemed to be of the opinion that the stage was adequately set, for he remained there without moving.
Sally waited no longer. Outwardly calm, but seething within with what Lord Tidmouth had called the fury of a woman who has driven eighty miles to be made a fool of, she walked briskly into the room.
“Good evening!“ she said, suddenly and sharply, and Bill Bannister shot up from the sofa as though propelled by an explosive.
CHAPTER X
BILL stood staring. His nervous system, in its highly-strung condition, was not proof against this entirely unexpected greeting. The Manor was not haunted, but if it had been and if the family spectre had suddenly presented itself at his elbow and barked at him, he would have reacted in a very similar way. He gulped, and fingered his collar.
“You made me jump!” he said plaintively.
Sally was cool and hostile.
“Weren’t you expecting me?”
“Er—yes. Yes. Of course.”
“Well, here I am.”
This was undeniable, and Bill should have accepted it as such. He should also have sunk back on the sofa, thus indicating that the effort he had just made had been too much for his frail strength. Instead, he became gushingly hospitable.
“I say, do sit down, won’t you? Won’t you have something to eat-something to drink?”
Sally raised her eyebrows.
“I must say,” she observed, “that for a man who has brought a doctor a night journey of eighty miles you look surprisingly well.”
Bill rejected the idea passionately.
“I’m not,” he cried.” I’m desperately ill.”
“Oh!” said Sally.
Bill’s manner became defiant, almost sullen.
“You can’t tell how a man’s feeling just by looking at him,” he said.
“I don’t intend to. We’ll have a thorough examination.”
A devout look came into Bill’s eyes.
“It’s like a dream,” he said.
“What is?”
“Your being here—in my home—”
“Tell me your symptoms,” said Sally.
Bill blinked.
“Did you say symptoms?”
“I did.”
“Well—I say, do let me help you off with your coat.”
“I can manage,” said Sally. She removed her wraps and threw them on a chair.” Now, then….
Hello! You’re shivering!”
“Am I?” said Bill.
“Do you feel chilly?”
“No. Hot all over.”
“Let me feel your pulse…. H’m! A hundred and ten. Very interesting. And yet you haven’t a temperature. A pulse of a hundred and ten without fever. Quite remarkable. Do you feel dizzy?”
“Yes,” said Bill truthfully.
“Then sit down.”
“Thanks,” said Bill, doing so.” Won’t you?”
Sally opened her bag, and from it removed an odd something at which her patient gazed with unconcealed apprehension.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Stethoscope,” said Sally briefly.” Now we can get on.”
“Yes,” said Bill doubtfully. He had heard of stethoscopes, and knew them to be comparatively harmless, but he was still uneasy. In his visions of this moment he had always seen this girl bending over him with a divine sympathy in her lovely eyes —trembling a little, perhaps—possibly passing a cool hand over his forehead. Up to the present she had done none of these things. Instead, she seemed to him—though this, he forced himself to feel, was merely due to his guilty conscience—annoyed about something.
A simple solution of the mystery came to him. In spite of the fact that she had ignored his previous offer of refreshment, she really needed some. She had had a tiring journey, and tiring journeys always affected women like this. He recalled an aunt of his who, until you shot a cup of tea into her, always became —even after the simplest trip—a menace to man and beast.
“I say, do have something to eat and drink,” he urged.
Sally frowned.
“Later,” she said.” Now, then, the symptoms, please.”
Bill made a last effort to stem the tide.
“Must we talk about my symptoms?” he asked plaintively.
“Might I mention,” retorted Sally, “that I’ve driven eighty miles simply in order to talk about them?”
“But surely there’s not such a desperate hurry as all that? I mean, can’t we have just five minutes’ conversation___“ Her eye was not encouraging, but he persevered.” You don’t seem to understand how tremendously happy it makes me to see you sitting there—”
Sally cut into his rambling discourse like an east wind.
“It may seem eccentric to you, Mr. Bannister,” she said frigidly, “but when I get an urgent call to visit an invalid I find my thoughts sort of straying in the direction of his health. It’s a foolish habit we doctors have. So may I repeat—the symptoms?” She fixed him with a compelling glance.” When,” she asked, “did you first notice that there was anything wrong with you?”
Bill could answer that.
“Three weeks ago.”
“About the time you first met me?”
“Yes.”
“An odd coincidence. What happened?”
“My heart stood still.”
“It couldn’t.”
“It did.”
“Hearts don’t stand still.”
“Mine did,” insisted Bill stoutly.” It then had strong palpitations. They’ve been getting worse ever since. Sometimes,” he proceeded, beginning to get into his stride, “I feel as if I were going to suffocate. It is as if I were being choked inside by an iron hand.”
“Probably dyspepsia. Go on.”
“My hands tremble. My head aches. My feet feel like lead. I have floating spots before the eyes, and I can’t sleep.”
“No?”
“Not a wink. I toss on my pillow. I turn feverishly from side to side. But it’s all no good. Dawn comes and finds me still awake. I stare before me hopelessly. Another night,” concluded Bill with fine pathos, “has passed, and in the garden outside the roosters are crowing.”
“Anything connected with roosters,” said Sally, “you had better tell to a vet.”
A man in a sitting position finds it difficult to draw himself up indignantly, but Bill did his best.
“Is that all you can do to a patient—laugh at him?”
“If you think I am finding this a laughing matter,” said Sally grimly, “you’re wrong. Undress, please,” she added casually.
Bill started violently.
“What—what did you say?” he quavered.
“Undress.”
“But—but I can’t.”
“Would you like me to help you?”
“I mean—is it necessary?”
“Quite.”
“But—”
Sally surveyed him coolly.
“I notice the vascular motors are still under poor control,” she said.” Why do you blush?”
“What do you expect me to do—cheer?” Bill’s voice shook. The prude in him had been deeply stirred.” Look here,” he demanded, “do you mean to tell me this is the first time any of your male patients has jibbed at undressing in front of you?”
“Oh, no! I had a case last week.”
“I’m glad,” said Bill primly, “that somebody has a little delicacy beside myself.”
“It wasn’t delicacy. He didn’t want me to see that he was wearing detachable cuffs. You know the kind? They fasten on with a clip, and are generally made of celluloid—like motion-picture films.”
“Er-do you go much to the pictures?” asked Bill.
Sally refused to allow the conversation to be diverted.
“Never mind whether I go to the pictures,” she said.” Please undress.”
Bill gave up the struggle. He threw off his dressing-gown.
“That’ll do for the present,” said Sally.” I can’t think what you were making such a fuss about. Your cuffs aren’t detachable…. Now, please.”
She placed the stethoscope against his chest and applied her ear to it. Bill gazed down upon the top of her head emotionally.
“I wonder,” he said, “if you realize what this means to me—to see you here—in my home—to feel that we two are alone together at last—”
“Did you ever have any children’s disease?”
“No! … Alone together at last—”
“Mumps?” said Sally.
Bill gulped.
“No!”
“Measles?”
“No!” shouted Bill.
Sally looked up.
“I merely asked,” she said.
Bill was quivering with self-pity.
“It’s too bad,” he said.” Here I am, trying to pour out my soul to you, and you keep interrupting with questions about mumps and measles.”
“My dear Mr. Bannister,” said Sally, “I’m not interested in your soul. My job has to do with what the hymn-book calls your ‘vile body ‘.“
There was a pause. She put her ear to the stethoscope again.
“Can’t you understand,” cried Bill, breaking into eloquence once more, “that the mere sight of you sets every nerve in my body tingling? When you came in I felt like a traveller in the desert who is dying of thirst and suddenly comes upon an oasis. I felt—”
“And retching or nausea?”
“Oh, my God!”
“Now tell me about your sex-life,” said Sally.
Bill recoiled.
“Stand still.”
“I won’t stand still,” said Bill explosively.
“Then move about,” said Sally equably.” But give me the information I asked for.”
Bill eyed her austerely.
“Don’t you know the meaning of the word “reticence’?” he asked.
“Of course not. I’m a doctor.”
Bill took a turn up and down the room.
“Well, naturally, “he said with dignity, halting once more, “I have had—er—experiences—like other men.”
Sally was at the stethoscope again.
“Um-hum,” she said.
“I admit it. There have been women in my life.”
“Say ninety-nine.”
“Not half as many as that!” cried Bill, starting.
“Say ninety-nine, please.”
“Oh
!“ Bill became calmer. “I didn’t—I thought I imagined that you were referring— Well, in short, ninety-nine.”
Sally straightened herself. She put the stethoscope away.
“Thank you,” she said. “Your lungs appear to be all right. Remove the rest of your clothes, please.”
“What!”
“You heard.”
“I won’t do it!” cried Bill, pinkly.
Sally shrugged her shoulders.
“Just as you like,” she said.” Then the examination is finished.” She paused.” Tell me, Mr. Bannister,” she asked, “just to satisfy my curiosity, what sort of a fool did you think I was?”
Bill gaped.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m glad you have the grace to. Did you imagine that this was the first time I had ever been called out into the country?”
“I—”
“Let me tell you it is not. And do you know what usually happens when I am called to the country? I see you don’t,” she said, as Bill choked wordlessly.” Well, when I am sent for to visit a patient in the country, Mr. Bannister, the road is lined with anxious relatives waiting for the car. They help me out and bustle me into the house. They run around like chickens with their heads cut off, and everybody who isn’t having hysterics on the stairs is in the kitchen brewing camomile tea.”
“Camomile tea?”
“People who get sick in the country are always given camomile tea.”
“I never knew that before.”
“You’ll learn a lot of things,” said Sally, “if you stick around with me. And one of them, Mr. Bannister, is that I’m not a complete idiot. You’ll excuse my slight warmth. I’ve driven eighty miles on a fool’s errand, and somehow I find it a little irritating.”
Bill waved his hands agitatedly.
“But I tell you you’re wrong!”
“What! Have you the nerve to pretend there’s anything whatever the matter with you?”
“Certainly there is. I—I’m not myself.”
“I congratulate you.”
“I’m a very sick man.”
“And I’m a very angry woman.”
Bill coughed an injured cough.
“Of course, if you don’t believe me, there’s nothing more to say.”
“Oh, isn’t there?” said Sally.” I’ll find plenty more to say, trust me. I may as well tell you, Mr. Bannister, that when I arrived I looked in at the window and saw you striding about, the picture of health. A moment later the telephone rang, and you went to it and said you were your valet—”
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