The Worth Of The Price
by
Nobody in a normal humor would dispute the fact that Clementine Willis was a strikingly handsome girl. One might even be moved, by a burst of enthusiasm, to declare her beautiful. There was about her that subtle, elusive charm of perfection in minute detail, possible only to the wealthy who can discriminate between art and that which is artificial, and who can take advantage of all of art’s magic resources, without imparting the slightest suggestion of artificiality.
Her hair and eyes were dark–very dark; her skin bore the matchless, transparent tint of ivory; every line of her high-bred face, and of her hands and her slender, arched feet, bespoke the ultimate degree of refinement.
She was the sort of girl, in short, that a full-blooded man must needs stare at, perhaps furtively, but with no thought of boldness. Stupid, indeed, must be he who would attempt anything even remotely approaching familiarity with Miss Willis.
Her smart brougham waits in front of a new and resplendent down-town office building on a certain afternoon, while Miss Willis ascends in one of the elevators to the tenth floor. She proceeds with assurance, but leisurely–mayhap she is a trifle bored–to a door which somehow manages to convey an impression of prosperity beyond. It bears upon its frosted glass the name of Dr. Leonard, a renowned specialist in diseases of the throat, besides the names of a half-dozen assistants–in much smaller lettering–who, doubtless, are in the ferment of struggling for positions of equal renown.
The door opening discloses a neat, uniformed maid and a large and richly furnished reception-room. Five ladies, of various ages and all handsomely gowned, are seated here and there, manifestly forcing patience to relieve the ennui which would have been tolerated with no other detail of the day’s routine.
This cursory survey is sufficient, it is hoped, to demonstrate that Dr. Leonard’s practice is confined among a class of which most other practitioners might be pardonably envious.
The white-aproned, white-capped maid smiled a polite recognition of the newest arrival. A bit flustered by the calmly impersonal scrutiny with which her greeting was received, she addressed Miss Willis in a subdued voice.
“I was to tell you, Miss Willis, that there is no occasion for Dr. Leonard to see you himself to-day. If you please, Dr. Carter will fill your engagement.”
Miss Willis did not please. It was quite clear that she regarded this arrangement with considerable disfavor.
“You may inform Dr. Leonard that I shall not wait,” she said coldly. “If I am so far improved that I do not require his personal attention, I shall not come again.”
With that, she turned decisively to leave. The maid followed her, hesitantly, to the door, and Miss Willis could not repress a smile at the girl’s consternation. The situation had ended in an altogether unexpected manner. And then, in the next instant, it became manifest that, however absolute Dr. Leonard might be, it was not a part of the maid’s duties to discourage those who would seek his services. She was emboldened to protest.
“Just try him, please, Miss Willis,” in a nervous murmur; “he–truly–he’s–“
The assurance was left unfinished; but the speaker’s flurry revealed her predicament, and Miss Willis smiled encouragement.
“Very well,” she returned graciously.
The maid gave her a grateful look and conducted her though several rooms, all in accord with the sumptuous reception-room, to a tiny private office, where she opened the door and stood respectfully on one side.
The visitor’s submissive mood all at once vanished. She stared resentfully at the cramped quarters, and entered reluctantly, as if with a feeling of being thrust willy-nilly into a labelled pill-box. A man was writing at a desk in a corner, and he continued writing.
“Take a chair, please,” he said crisply, without looking up. And this was the only sign to indicate that he was aware that his privacy had been invaded.
Miss Willis’s dark eyes flashed. She seemed about to make an indignant rejoinder, but thought better of it. She ignored the invitation to sit down, however, and by and by the circumstance caught the writer’s attention; he bent a quick, surprised look round at her–then proceeded with his writing. He did not repeat the request.