Doctor Luttrell's First Patient

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

  CHAPTER VII.

  BLOWING BUBBLES.

  "How pleasant it is to be acquainted with new and cleverthings."--_Aristophanes_.

  Marcus certainly carried his head a little higher than usual thatevening; as for Olivia, she trod on air. As she sat at her needleworklater on, waiting until Marcus returned from his second visit toGalvaston House, her thoughts were busy about the future.

  Marcus would soon have a large practice; it was all very well for AuntMadge to be sententious, and say that one swallow does not make aspring; but already the second harbinger of good luck had put in anappearance.

  There was no fear of parting with Martha now; before long Olivia wasbuilding magnificent castles. The house next door to Galvaston Housewas to let, it had a garden and a small conservatory, and Marcus hadonce remarked that it was just the house for a medical man; thereception-rooms were good and there was a capital stable.

  "Supposing we were ever rich enough to take Kempton Lodge," she said toherself.

  Marcus threw back his head and indulged in a hearty laugh, when heheard where his wife's imagination had landed her.

  "Kempton Lodge--my dear child--why do you not suggest Prince's Gate, orBelgravia? My own thoughts had not gone further than a new greatcoatthis winter. I am afraid my old one is getting a little seedy." Andat this remark, Olivia's airily constructed fabric dissolved intonothingness.

  To blow bubbles is an enchanting pastime even with grown-up children.The big bright-coloured bubbles soar into the air and look so beautifulbefore they burst. One is gone, but another takes its place, just asrainbow-tinted, and gorgeous. There are people who blow endlessbubbles until their life's end, who cannot be induced to discontinuethe harmless pursuit.

  "Life is so hard and dreary," they say. "The wheels of drudgery arefor ever turning and grinding; let us sit in the sun a little and floatour fairy balls. What if they are dreams and never come to anything;the dreams and the sunlight have made us happy; there is plenty of timein which to do our work."

  Marcus laughed at his wife's fancies; but he never crushed themruthlessly. "Poor little Livy," he thought, "why should she not buildher air castles if they make her happy, and perhaps, after all, whoknows----" but Marcus did not finish his sentence even to himself.

  But the next day when he went to Maybrick Villas to fetch his wifehome, he had a good deal to say about his new patients.

  "I am in luck," he said, as he stood warming himself before the fire,while the two women watched him. "I thought of course when they sentfor me that it was because I was the nearest doctor, and that perhapstheir own medical man was engaged--in an imminent case like that it isimpossible to wait--but no, it was nothing of the kind. Mrs. Stanwelltold me herself--she is such a nice little person, Livy--that they haveonly been a few months at Fairfax Lodge, and that before that they hadlived in Yorkshire.

  "Being strangers in the place they were sadly perplexed on the subjectof doctors, until the nurse told her mistress that she had seen megoing in and out of Galvaston House. And this decided Mrs. Stanwell tosend for me. As I was able to do the child good, they are ridiculouslygrateful. I am likely to have another patient there; Mrs. Stanwell hasan aunt living with her, and she is ailing. I have only taken a hastydiagnosis of the case, but I am going again to-morrow. I am halfafraid the poor old lady is in a bad way."

  "It is a long lane that has no turning, Marcus," observed Aunt Madge."There, you must take Olive away, she has been wearying the pasthalf-hour to get back to Dot!" but as they left her alone in thefirelight she said to herself:

  "Dear things, how happy they look! at their age life is so dreadfullyexciting. I believe myself Marcus will get on; he is really clever,and never spares himself, but I doubt if Livy or I will ever be sointerested in anyone as we are in Marcus's first patient."

  Olivia would have indorsed this sentiment readily; before long Mr.Gaythorne became an important factor in her daily life, the friendshipbetween them ripened rapidly.

  Olivia kept to her resolution of never going to Galvaston House unlessshe were specially invited; but every three or four days a message fromthe old man reached her.

  Olivia, whose only dissipation had been a weekly tea with Aunt Madge,and a biannual call at the Vicarage, with or without tea, according toMrs. Tolman's mood, found these afternoons at Galvaston House verystimulating.

  At first she was sorry when Mr. Gaythorne gave up sitting in the wintergarden, and ensconced himself in the library, but she soon changed heropinion when he began to show her his curiosities and rare prints. Hehad so much to tell her about the birds and butterflies in the museumas he called the inner room, that the hours flew past as she listenedto him, and it was always with real regret that she took her leave whenthe time came for her to go home.

  "Aunt Madge and Marcus find me so much more interesting ever since youhave taken me in hand," she said once. "I try and repeat all you tellme, but, of course, I forget half. Very often Marcus helps me toremember--he has read so much on these subjects, you see."

  Perhaps it was this artless speech that led to Mr. Gaythorne showingMarcus a case of curious insects, and Dr. Luttrell had been sofascinated, so utterly engrossed, that the old man, much flattered, hadcordially invited him into the museum. Marcus, who had still much timeon his hands, often spent a pleasant hour or two with his patient. Mr.Gaythorne lent him books, and gave him choice brands of cigars.

  Olivia was highly delighted at these evident marks of favour, but ittroubled her that Mr. Gaythorne never liked them to come together.Olivia was always invited pointedly when Marcus's visit had been paid,and now and then he would ask Dr. Luttrell to have a chat with himafter dinner. Once when Olivia had ventured to hint her disapproval ofthis he had answered with unwonted irritability.

  "I like to take my pleasures singly, Mrs. Luttrell. I am sorry if Ikeep you from your husband. I am a selfish old misanthrope, I amafraid;" but Olivia, alarmed by this decided acerbity, hastened toassure him that her remark had meant nothing.

  "It is so natural of me to want Marcus to share my pleasure," she saidso sweetly that Mr. Gaythorne was mollified.

  Even Marcus noticed a decided improvement in his patient's manner. Hewas less irritable and contradictory, and was evidently grateful forthe relief he had derived from his doctor's treatment. The barecivility with which he had at first tolerated Marcus soon changed intogreater cordiality. Dr. Luttrell's intelligence could appreciate Mr.Gaythorne's culture and learning. Before long they were on the best ofterms, but it was Olivia who was the prime favourite.

  When Olivia's face appeared on the threshold Mr. Gaythorne's eyesbrightened under their rugged brows, and his voice insensibly softened.To her, and her only, he showed his real self.

  "He has a strange complex nature," she said once to her husband. "Heis very reserved, there are some things of which he never speaks. Hehas not once mentioned his son. I should not have known he had one,only I saw the name of Alwyn Gaythorne in a book. 'I thought yourfirst name was John?' I said rather heedlessly.

  "'So it is, John Alwyn,' he returned; 'that book belonged to my son,'but his voice was so constrained that I did not venture to say more.Depend upon it there is a mystery there, Marcus."

  "'Perhaps Alwyn the younger is a Nihilist," returned Marcus, in ateasing voice. "Probably he is at Portland at the present moment,undergoing his sentence. No wonder poor Mr. Gaythorne is such arecluse;" but Olivia refused to be entertained by this badinage.

  "I am quite in earnest," she returned, with a grave air. "So you neednot trouble yourself to be ridiculous, Marcus. Why should he talk somuch of his daughter and never mention his only son?"

  "According to you he is almost as silent on the subject of his wife."

  "Oh, that is different," she answered, hastily. "He once said to methat he could never bear even to hear her name mentioned, that it upsethim so. 'I was a happy man as long as she lived,' he said, so sadly,'but it was all up with me when I lost her. She was a peacemaker,
shealways kept things smooth; her name was Olivia too.'"

  "Poor old boy," was Marcus's irrelevant remark at this.

  "Yes, he is a strange mixture," went on Olivia, thoughtfully. "He hasan affectionate nature, but he is hard too; he could be terribly hard,I am sure of that. And then see how good he is to those poor Traversesand to Aunt Madge. Could anyone be more generous. And yet he is notliberal by nature. That very day that he sent Mrs. Crampton to theModels with all those good things--jellies and beef-tea and chicken andactually two bottles of port wine--he was as angry as possible withPhoebe, because she had broken his medicine glass. Mrs. Crampton hadorders to deduct the price of the glass from her wages. 'I always dothat,' he said to me, 'it teaches them to be careful,' but poor Phoebecried about it afterwards.

  "'I call it real mean of master,' Phoebe had said; 'it is the firstthing that ever I broke in this house, and it was all through Erosgetting between my feet. It is not the few pence I mind, for we havegood wages paid down on the day, but I call it shabby of master to bedown on a poor servant-girl like that.'

  "His servants don't seem to love him," went on Olivia. "They serve himwell, because it is their interest to do so, but even Mrs. Crampton,who has been with him twenty years, does not dare to contradict him."

  "Anyhow, he is liberal to us," returned Marcus, patting his waistcoatpocket, for he had that morning received his first cheque.

  Marcus's first act had been to go to the coal merchant and order in aton of excellent coal, then he had gone home and told his wife in aperemptory tone to put on her hat and jacket.

  "I am going to take you to Harvey and Phelps to get a new dress andjacket," he said, severely. "I am not going to put up with that rustyold serge any longer," and Olivia had remonstrated in vain against suchextravagance.

  It was all very well to blow bubbles and furnish Kempton Lodge fromgarret to basement, but when it came to spending Marcus's firstcheque----!

  "Marcus, dear," she said, imploringly, "my old dress is quite tidy. Iput new braid round it yesterday, and I would so much rather you got anew great-coat. Even Aunt Madge noticed that your present one wasdreadfully shabby."

  "Of course I shall get a new coat too," returned Dr. Luttrell, coolly.Then at the thought of this lavishness Olivia was stricken dumb.

  Marcus made his purchases with great discretion; the grey tweed andwarm jacket to match suited Olivia's tall supple figure perfectly--hehad a momentary debate with himself before he ventured on a modestblack straw hat with velvet trimmings, but in the end the order wasgiven.

  "Oh, Marcus, how could you!" exclaimed Olivia, who was at fever pointby this time.

  "Hold your tongue, Livy!" returned Marcus, good-humouredly. "I mean mywife to be well-dressed for once in her life. Now I must go to thetailor's for that great-coat. There won't be much of Mr. Gaythorne'scheque left by the time I get home. We shall want the balance forChristmas groceries."

  Olivia groaned in spirit over Marcus's recklessness, but she could notbear to damp his enjoyment. She unburdened her mind to Mrs. Broderickthe next day.

  "Don't you think it would have been wiser to have put it by for a rainyday?" she said, anxiously. But Aunt Madge did not seem quite to sharethis opinion.

  "My dear," she said, shrewdly, "I think Marcus knows what he is about;it would never do for him to go to those good houses in a shabbygreatcoat. A little outlay is sometimes a good investment."

  "Oh, yes, but I was thinking of the dress and jacket and that hat, AuntMadge----"

  "Ah, well, we must forgive Marcus that extravagance! It hurt his prideto see you calling at Galvaston House in that old serge dress. He isnot really improvident, Livy. You have enough in hand for presentnecessities, and there will be something coming in next month."

  "Oh, dear, yes; and do you know, Aunt Madge, they have sent for Marcusto attend the lodger at number seventeen. He is a music-teacher andvery respectable, and can afford to pay his doctor, so that is swallownumber three."

  "Then I am sure you can wear your new dress with an easy conscience,"and then Olivia's last scruples vanished.

  Olivia looked so distinguished in her grey tweed that Marcus made herblush by telling her that she had never looked so handsome.

  Mr. Gaythorne gave her an odd penetrating glance when she entered thelibrary.

  "I hardly knew you, Mrs. Luttrell," he said, dryly, and then his mannerchanged and softened. "That was her favourite colour," he said."Olive was always a grey bird; she liked soft, subdued tints; she was abit of a Puritan. I often told her so."

  "I am glad you like my new dress," returned Olivia, simply. "Myhusband chose it for me, he has such good taste."

  "You need not tell me that, Mrs. Luttrell." And again Olivia blushedlike a girl at the implied compliment.

  Mr. Gaythorne was looking over a portfolio of water-colour paintings.Olivia had not yet seen them, and she was full of outspoken admiration,as Mr. Gaythorne placed one after another before her.

  "They are all the work of a young artist who died at Rome," he said."I bought them of his widow. They are very well done; he had greatpromise, poor fellow. If he had lived, he would have done good work.These were merely pot-boilers, as he called them--little things hepainted on the spur of the moment."

  "To me they are perfectly beautiful," returned Olivia. "Those two areso lovely that I could not choose between them. Please let me look atthem a little longer, Mr. Gaythorne, I want to tell Aunt Madge aboutthem." And Olivia, who was always charmingly natural in her movements,propped her chin on her hands, and looked long and earnestly at thepictures.

  Their beauty lay in the soft rich colouring and a certainsuggestiveness in the subject.

  One was a little grey church on a hill-side; the church was ruinous andout of repair, the churchyard full of weeds and thistles; a storm hadjust broken, and an old shepherd in a ragged smock had taken refuge inthe porch, his rough-looking dog at his feet. The bowed figure andknotted hands, and the peaceful look in the wrinkled face werewonderfully striking, the patient eyes turned upwards were gazing atthe rainbow. "'Tis a love token, I reckon," were the words writtenunderneath the sketch.

  Olivia could almost hear them through the parted lips; ruins andthistles and weeds and a broken storm, and beyond them the message ofpeace, written on the bright tints of the rainbow, for one simple heartto read.

  "Aunt Madge would understand that," she said to herself; "she wouldlike that picture best, but this is just as beautiful to my mind."

  The second sketch was equally suggestive; it was a cornfield withpoppies growing in it; under the hedge in the cool shade lay a brownbaby asleep. A dish tied up in a blue handkerchief and a stone bottlelay beside the infant; an old terrier kept watch over them both.

  "Keeping watch and ward" was the title of this picture; it wascertainly very well painted. A breeze seemed rippling through the cornin the nook where the child lay; there were festoons of honeysuckle anddog-roses, and long sprays of traveller's joy. The stumpy grey terriersitting erect at his post of duty was full of significance andindividuality. The mother was evidently among the reapers in the fardistance.

  "One would never be tired of looking at that cornfield," observedOlivia, and though Mr. Gaythorne smiled at her enthusiasm, he would notspoil her enjoyment by pointing out to her one or two defects that hehad already noticed.

  By-and-by he called her to pour out the coffee--Mr. Gaythorne neverindulged in afternoon tea.

  "This is not much like Christmas weather," he said, looking out at thecold mizzling rain; "the forecasts promise a change, however. Isuppose I must not ask if you dislike Christmas, it would not be a fairquestion at your age."

  "No, indeed; I love it dearly. I have only had one sad Christmas--theyear dear mother died--it is my birthday too, that makes it doublyfestive. I am so glad I was born on such a beautiful day; that is whymy second name is Noel."

  "And you hold high festival on it?"

  "Well, we cannot do much. Marcus and I alwa
ys go to the early service,that is how we begin the day, and then he always has some littlepresent on the breakfast table. It is the one day in the year wealways dine with Aunt Madge; she is such an invalid, you see, that verylittle tires her; but on Christmas Day, we first dine with her quietly,and have an early tea, then come home; we are generally back by sixo'clock, and have a long evening by ourselves. Do you spend ChristmasDay quite alone, Mr. Gaythorne?"

  "Yes, quite alone," he returned, gloomily; "but I have plenty of ghoststo visit me," and his face twitched, and he stooped over the picturesas he spoke.