CHAPTER V.
A VISIT TO GALVASTON HOUSE.
"He who knows how to speak knows also when to speak."--_Plutarch_.
The next morning as Olivia sat at work with Dot on the rug at her feet,playing with a limp furry monkey, over which she was gurgling andcooing like a baby dove, Dr. Luttrell entered the room; there was apleased look on his face.
"Olive," he said, "look what Mr. Gaythorne has given me for poor JackTravers," and he held a five-pound note before his wife's eyes. "Don'tyou think we owe him a handsome apology for calling him a miser? itdoes not do to judge by appearances in this world; Mr. Gaythorne iseccentric, and a trifle cantankerous, but he is not stingy."
"Olive, look what Mr. Gaythorne has given me."]
"Jack Travers! is that the poor man in the Models? Oh, Marcus, howsplendid of him to give all that; it will be quite a fortune to thepoor things."
"Yes, it will pay their rent until Travers gets about again; he is notgoing to die this journey. Was it not liberal of the old fellow? butif you had only seen the way he gave it to me, as though he wereashamed of the whole thing.
"'That is for the man you told me about last night,' he said, in quitea grumpy voice; and he had hardly seemed as though he had listenedyesterday; and he would not let me thank him, he turned testy at once;by-the-bye, Livy, he wants you to go and see him; you have evidentlywon his heart, my dear. 'If Mrs. Luttrell has half an hour's leisure Ishall be pleased to see her,' those were his very words."
"I hope you told him that it would be rather difficult to find leisurewith all my numerous engagements," returned Olivia, saucily, "but thatI would do my best for him. How many callers have we had since we weremarried, Marcus? let me see, the Vicar and Mrs. Tolman, oh, and one dayMrs. Tolman brought a friend. I remember how excited I was thatafternoon, and that horrid little Sarah Jane had her sleeves rolled upto her elbows when she opened the door, and I dared not offer them teabecause I knew she would never have had boiling water. Oh, yes,"continued Olivia, merrily, "I will look over my visiting list, and seehow I am to squeeze in a call at Galvaston House. What hour do youthink would suit him best, Marcus?"
Then Dr. Luttrell, who had been much amused by his wife's drollery,gravely considered the point.
"About three o'clock, I should say; I think he wants to show you hisflowers; he is going to have his couch wheeled into the conservatory,or his winter garden, as he calls it. Why should you not go acrossthis afternoon? Now I must be off to the Models;" and as Olivia tookup her work again there was a soft flush on her cheek, and a happy lookin her eyes as she listened to his light springing tread.
"Dear Marcus," she said to herself; "how pleased he is about this, ithas done him good already. Oh, how I hope Mr. Gaythorne will take afancy to him; he is rich and liberal, I am sure of that; he will payMarcus well, and perhaps before long someone else will send for him.What, Dot, my sweet, must I love Jacko too?" as Dot laid her treasureon her mother's lap.
When Olivia rang at the bell of Galvaston House that afternoon the samerosy-cheeked maid admitted her.
"If you will step into the library a minute, ma'am," she observed, "Iwill tell Mrs. Crampton," and Olivia was left alone in the beautifulroom she remembered so well.
A bright fire burned cheerily on the hearth and the blind hound lay onthe rug; he came up to Olivia and thrust his slender nose into her handin a friendly fashion. It was in this room that Mr. Gaythorneevidently passed his days; the tables bore signs of his numerousoccupations; one table seemed loaded with books of reference. A pileof neatly written manuscripts were on the escritoire. Portfolios ofengravings and a microscope on a pedestal stand occupied one corner,and a small inner room seemed full of cabinets and cases of stuffedbirds and butterflies.
Mr. Gaythorne was evidently a collector and a man of culture; thevolumes in the carved oak book-cases were mostly bound in Russian calf.Olivia had only time to read a few titles when Mrs. Crampton appeared;her comely face had a pleased smile on it.
"Mr. Gaythorne will be extremely obliged if you will step upstairs andsee him, ma'am," she said, civilly; "he has been wheeled into theconservatory; my master thinks a deal of his flowers--books andflowers--they are his main amusements when his cough keeps him fromgoing out Oh! you must come too, Eros, of course," as the houndfollowed them closely.
Galvaston House had been built in rather an unusual fashion; aconservatory had been thrown out at the back of the first floor landingand ran along one side of the house, forming a sort of verandah to thelower rooms.
As Mrs. Crampton opened the glass door, the warm fragrant air met themdeliciously. At the farther end Mr. Gaythorne lay on a couch under atall palm, with an oriental quilt thrown over him; his dark crimsondressing-gown, and black velvet cap gave him a picturesque appearance;with his white peaked beard and moustache, and his dark sunken eyes, hewould have passed for a Venetian Doge; the mass of brilliant bloom, andthe warm flower-scented air made Olivia slightly giddy.
"This is very kind of you, Mrs. Luttrell," observed Mr. Gaythorne, in aslow, precise voice, as she stooped over him and took his hand."Crampton, bring a chair for the lady. I have been wanting to thankyou for your kind assistance that unlucky evening. I told the doctorso, and he has been good enough to give you my message."
"Indeed, I did very little," returned Olivia, in her mellow voice."You seemed so feeble that I could not help watching you cross theroad; and then you slipped, and I felt you had hurt yourself. I fearfrom what my husband tells me that it will be some little time beforeyou will be able to get out again."
"So he says, and he threatens me with crutches," returned the old man,grimly; "but, as I seldom cross the threshold in winter, I need nottrouble myself about that. Are you fond of flowers, Mrs. Luttrell?" asOlivia's eyes wandered to the splendid exotics round her. "Cramptonshall cut you some presently. My library and my winter garden form myentire world now."
"And you live among all these lovely things!" observed Olivia, almostin a tone of awe. "Oh, if only Aunt Madge could see these flowers!"
She spoke impulsively without considering her words, and blushed alittle when she saw Mr. Gaythorne lift his eyebrows cynically.
"I was only thinking of my aunt, Mrs. Broderick," she said,apologetically. "She is such a sad invalid; she has never been outonce since Uncle Fergus died, and that is ever so many years ago, andshe suffers such dreadful pain sometimes. The doctors say hercomplaint is incurable, and she is not at all old. She lives all alonewith her maid, and never goes beyond her two rooms, and yet no onehears her complain."
"Mrs. Broderick must be a wonderful person. She beats Job," returnedMr. Gaythorne, with a cynical curl of his lip; but Olivia was too muchengrossed with her subject to notice it.
"Oh, she is wonderful!" she returned, earnestly. "I never met any onelike her. She is the bravest woman I know. Even the Vicar says so.Don't you love pluck, Mr. Gaythorne? So few people are plucky in thatsense. Aunt Madge has lost everything she cares for--husband and childand health; but she bears it all so beautifully, and makes the best ofthings. I could not help thinking of her when I saw all those lovelyflowers; she simply dotes on flowers! There are always some on herlittle table; flowers and books, those are her sole pleasures."
"What on earth made you hold forth on Aunt Madge's virtues, you absurdchild?" was Marcus's comment when Olivia repeated this portion of herconversation. "Fancy entertaining Mr. Gaythorne with an account ofyour relations!"--and Olivia blushed guiltily.
"It does sound odd if you put it in that way, Marcus," she returned;"but when I saw all those beautiful flowers, Aunt Madge just jumpedinto my head, and I always do speak out my thoughts so. But I couldsee he was interested. He said little sharp sneering things at first,but afterwards he questioned me a good deal. Oh, we got on splendidly!He began asking me about ourselves, and if you had much of a practice.Oh, he said it quite nicely!" as Marcus dropped the loaf he was cuttingand frowned anxiously. "He was quite gentlemanly, and only hinted atth
ings; but I understood him, of course."
"And you told him, I suppose, that he was my first patient," in anannoyed tone. "You may as well own it, Livy; you are honest enougheven for that," and there was no denying that Marcus's voice wasdecidedly sarcastic. With all her virtues Olivia never did know whento hold her tongue.
"Oh, Marcus dear, how could I help it," replied Olivia, nervously. "Ofcourse I had to tell him that we were just beginners, and how Dr. Sladehad deceived us; that there was no redress, as he was dead. But I toldhim, too, how hard you worked among the poor---- He did not say much.I don't think he is a great talker, but he stroked that funny beard ofhis and nodded his head. Then when Mrs. Crampton came up he told herto bring coffee, and he made me stay and pour it out for him. Therewas such a lovely chased coffee-pot and cream-jug, and such deliciouscakes, and when I said at last that I must go he thanked me quitepleasantly. 'It is long since I have been so well amused, and I hopeyou will come and see me again.' Yes, he said that, Marcus, so I amsure he did not mind my frankness. But oh, dear! he quite forgot totell Mrs. Crampton to cut me some flowers."
"You need not expect any flowers now," returned her husband,impatiently. "You have done for yourself and me too I expect. Abeginner you said, Livy, and you a sensible woman! When I go thisevening, I have no doubt I shall be civilly told that a second opinionwill be desirable. My dear girl, don't you know that a modestreticence, a judicious silence, is sometimes the safest policy. Aprofessional beggar may whine and show his sores, but a needy doctorout at elbows must wear a good appearance;" but Olivia, who was on theverge of tears from sheer vexation at her own impulsiveness, did notseek to defend herself.
If she had imperilled Marcus's professional reputation by hercarelessness, she felt she should never hold up her head again, butMarcus, who was tired and a little out of humour, was not disposed tocomfort her.
He had had a worrying day among his poor patients, the one bright spothad been his visit to the Models, when Jack Travers had sobbed andbroken down in the attempt to speak his gratitude. And now just asthey were getting on so well, Olivia's want of tact and that terriblyhonest tongue of hers had spoilt everything. Was it likely--was itwithin the bounds of possibility--that a man of the world--a rich mantoo--would be content with the services of an unknown practitioner? Ifhe put himself in Mr. Gaythorne's place, he knew that he should bedisposed to request Dr. Bevan to call. It was not only a sprainedankle. Mr. Gaythorne was an ailing man, and needed medical care.Marcus, who was clever and quick-witted, had already formed a prettycorrect diagnosis of the case. "There is mental as well as physicaltrouble," he had said to himself the previous evening, and withprofessional reticence he had kept this opinion to himself, but he wasalready deeply interested in his patient. So much was at stake, andtheir fortunes were at so low an ebb, that Marcus might be pardoned forhis unusual touchiness. Yet when he left the room without furtherremark, Olivia's heart sank within her.
"Why could I not have held my tongue," she thought, with tardyrepentance. "What could have induced me to talk so much, but Mr.Gaythorne really seemed interested, and somehow he encouraged me to goon. If he had appeared bored or tired I should have stopped at once,but he seemed so curious about Aunt Madge, he even asked if she had agood doctor. Oh, dear, surely that is not Marcus going out!" as thestreet door opened; and now there were actual tears in Olivia's eyes.
In all the two years of their happy married life they had never hadmore than a momentary misunderstanding. If a hasty word had beenuttered by one of them, the other had always an eager protest or asmooth answer ready. When Olivia had been impatient and captious,Marcus had only laughed and coaxed her into good humour again. Andeven when he had indulged in a few sarcastic speeches, Olivia's softvoice and ready acquiescence had avoided friction.
Marcus often told her that they were a model couple, and had earned theDunmow Flitch over and over again, but in reality their mutual respectand thorough understanding of each other's salient points had conducedto this harmony.
That Marcus should leave the house therefore without speaking to heralarmed Olivia excessively. She must have vexed him, indeed, if hecould do such a thing as that, and here one or two bright drops randown on the blue pelisse.
She was actually crying like a scolded child, when two or three minuteslater the parlour-door opened and Marcus entered. His face wore aqueer expression, and in each hand he held an exquisite bunch ofhot-house flowers; their perfume reached Olivia before he laid thembefore her.
"There, Olive," he said, "I take back my words;" then, as he caughtsight of her tear-stained face: "Oh, you foolish little woman, youabsurd child," but his hand rested affectionately on her soft, brownhair, as she put back her head against him.
"Oh, Marcus, I could not help crying to think I had vexed you so.Somehow it is the one thing I cannot bear, to think my foolish tongueshould have harmed you."
"I was in an awful funk, certainly," returned Marcus, frankly, "but Inever meant to bother you like that. Cheer up, Livy, I daresay it isall right, and I know you will be a model of discretion for the future.Aren't you going to look at your flowers?" and then Olivia did permitherself to be consoled.
"Think of his cutting all those lovely flowers for me," she cried,ecstatically. "Is he not an old dear, Marcus? But why two bouquets?"knitting her brows in a puzzled fashion.
"You had better open that folded slip of paper," suggested her husband,sensibly, "it may explain matters," and Olivia took his advice.
"Mrs. Luttrell, with Mr. Gaythorne's compliments," was pencilled in ashaky hand, and on the second slip, almost illegibly, "For Mrs.Luttrell's aunt."
"Oh, Marcus, how sweet of him!" and Olivia looked almost lovely in herexcitement, and Marcus agreed that he was a good old sort.
"If you are going to write a note of thanks, you must just hurry up, asit is nearly time for me to go across," and then Olivia put the flowersin water, and got out her writing-case.
Doctor Luttrell's First Patient Page 5
