FullReads

“Not a thought of the effort,” replied Dr. Farleigh. “It isn’t that.”

“What is it?”

“A thought of appearances–of what people will say.”

“Now, doctor! You don’t think me so weak in that direction?”

“Just so weak,” was the free-spoken answer. “You fashionable people are all afraid of each other. You haven’t a spark of individuality or true independence. No, not a spark. You are quite strong enough to ride out in your own elegant carriage but with the doctor!–O, dear, no! If you were certain of not meeting Mrs. McFlimsey, perhaps the experiment might be adventured. But she is always out on fine days.”

“Doctor, for shame! How can you say that?”

And a ghost of color crept into the face of Mrs. Carleton, while her eyes grew brighter–almost flashed.

The maid came in with shawl and bonnet. Dr. Farleigh, as we have intimated, understood his patient, and said just two or three words more, in a tone half contemptuous.

“Afraid of Mrs. McFlimsey!”

“Not I; nor of forty Mrs. McFlimseys!”

It was not the ghost of color that warmed Mrs. Carleton’s face now, but the crimson of a quicker and stronger heart-beat. She actually arose from her chair without reaching for her maid’s hand and stood firmly while the shawl was adjusted and the bonnet-strings tied.

“We shall have a charming ride,” said the doctor, as he crowded in beside his fashionable lady companion, and took up the loose reins. He noticed that she sat up erectly, and with scarcely a sign of the languor that but a few minutes before had so oppressed her. “Lean back when you see Mrs. McFlimsey’s carriage, and draw your veil closely. She’ll never dream that it’s you.”

“I’ll get angry if you play on that string much longer!” exclaimed Mrs. Carleton; “what do I care for Mrs. McFlimsey?”

How charmingly the rose tints flushed her cheeks! How the light rippled in her dark sweet eyes, that were leaden a little while before!

Away from the noisy streets, out upon the smoothly-beaten road, and amid green field and woodlands, gardens and flower-decked orchards, the doctor bore his patient, holding her all the while in pleasant talk. How different this from the listless, companionless drives taken by the lady in her own carriage–a kind of easy, vibrating machine, that quickened the sluggish blood no more than a cushioned rocking chair!

Closely the doctor observed his patient. He saw how erectly she continued to sit; how the color deepened in her face, which actually seemed rounder and fuller; how the sense of enjoyment fairly danced in her eyes.

Returning to the city by a different road, the doctor, after driving through streets entirely unfamiliar to his companion, drew up his horse before a row of mean-looking dwellings, and dropping the reins, threw open the carriage door, and stepped upon the pavement–at the same time reaching out his hand to Mrs. Carleton. But she drew back, saying,–

“What is the meaning of this, doctor?”

“I have a patient here, and I want you to see her.”

“O, no; excuse me, doctor. I’ve no taste for such things,” answered the lady.

“Come–I can’t leave you alone in the carriage. Ned might take a fancy to walk off with you.”

Mrs. Carleton glanced at the patient old horse, whom the doctor was slandering, with a slightly alarmed manner.

“Don’t you think he’ll stand, doctor?” she asked, uneasily.

“He likes to get home, like others of his tribe. Come;” and the doctor held out his hand in a persistent way.

Mrs. Carleton looked at the poor tenements before which the doctor’s carriage had stopped with something of disgust and something of apprehension.

“I can never go in there, doctor.”

“Why not?”

“I might take some disease.”

“Never fear. More likely to find a panacea there.”

The last sentence was in an undertone.

Mrs. Carleton left the carriage, and crossing the pavement, entered one of the houses, and passed up with the doctor to the second story. To his light tap at a chamber door a woman’s voice said,–