You must not be at home. What do you mean by saying, "Oh!" If you don't take my advice, I shall go to Paris.'
'I beg your pardon, Lois: I'll do whatever you tell me.'
Mrs Crossmichael rose, and rang for her cloak. 'There's on e thing more you must do -- provoke his jealousy. The mother of that other young fellow who is dangling after you is just the person you want for the purpose. I heard her ask you to fix a day for visiting them at Windsor. You promised to write. Write to-morrow; and propose the day after, for your visit -- returning the next morning, of course, for the garden-party. Leave word where you have gone, when the beautiful Otto calls again. In the language of Miss Pillico, my dear, he wants a stimulant. I know what I am about. Good night.'
VII Mr Fitzmark called the next day, as Mrs Crossmichael had anticipated, and returned to his quarters at Sir John's a disappointed man. An hour later his doctor arrived, and found him in the garden, consoling himself with a cigarette. She took it out of his mouth with a fascinating familiarity, and threw it away.
'I find I must speak seriously, Mr Fitzmark. There's nobody in the garden. Suppose we sit down in the summer-house?'
They took their chairs, and Miss Pillico produced her stethoscope.
'Open your waistcoat, please. Thank you -- that will do.' She used her stethoscope, and then she used her ear; and then she took his hand. Not to press it! Only to put him into the right position to have his pulse felt. 'I have already told you that there is really no danger,' she said. 'The action of your heart is irregular -- and I find I have underrated the necessity of taking certain precautions. But I have no doubt of being able to restore you to health, if --' she let go of his hand, and looked at him tenderly -- 'if you will believe in your doctor, and do your best to help me.'
Otto only waited for his instructions. 'I am careful about my diet,' he said; 'I never hurry myself in going upstairs; and, now I know you object to it, I won't smoke. Is there anything more?'
'One thing more,' said Sophia softly. 'After what I saw last night, I cannot conceal from myself that Society is bad for you. You were excited -- oh, you were! Your doctor thought of your heart, and had her eye on you when you were talking to that lovely girl. Of course you are invited to the garden-party? Do me a favour (in my medical capacity) -- help your poor heart; write an excuse.'
Otto consented, not very willingly, to make a sacrifice to the necessities, as distinguished from the inclinations, of his heart. Sophia's pretty brown eyes stole a look at him -- a gentle, appealing look. 'I am afraid you hate me for keeping you away from Miss Salome,' she said.
This demand on Otto's gallantry only admitted of one reply. 'Miss Pillico, the man doesn't live who could hate you.'
The Doctor blushed. 'I wonder whether I may put a bold question,' she murmured -- 'entirely in the interest of your health?' She hesitated, and toyed confusedly with her stethoscope. 'I hardly know how to put it. Pray remember what I have already told you about your heart! Pleasurable excitement is just as bad for it as painful excitement. Bear that in mind, and let me suppose something quite likely -- an event in which all your friends must feel the deepest interest. Let me suppose (professionally) that you are going to be married.'
Otto denied it, without stopping to think first. The effect he produced on Miss Pillico rather alarmed him. She clasped her hands, and exclaimed fervently, 'What a relief!'
She was a strong-minded woman, and she followed a man's profession. Would she take a man's privilege, and make him an offer of marriage? Otto's weak heart began to flutter. Sophia still played with her stethoscope.
'I was thinking of my medical responsibility,' she explained. 'Please let me listen again.'
Otto submitted. There was a prolonged examination. 'Yes,' she said, 'under present conditions there can be no doubt of it. You mustn't! Indeed, you mustn't!'
'Mustn't -- what?' Otto asked.
'Marry!' Miss Pillico answered sternly.
'Never?' Otto persisted piteously.
Sophia informed him that it depended on the treatment. 'What I have said to you,' she proceeded, not unmindful of the future in her own interests, 'refers to the present time. If you had been engaged to marry some young lady, for instance, I should have said, Put it off. Or, if you only contemplated such a thing, I should say, Pause. In one word, we have an interval to pass: long or short, is more than I can yet tell.' She rose, and laid her hand persuasively on his arm. 'Pray be regular with your medicine,' she pleaded, 'and let me know directly if you feel any change in your heart.' They passed a flower-bed on their way back to the house. Miss Pillico admired the roses. Otto instantly presented her with a rose. She put it in her bosom -- and sighed -- and gave him a farewell look. For the first time he left the look unreturned. He had accidentally picked the rose which bore Salome's favourite colour -- he was thinking of the grey-eyed girl with golden hair.