Who could this favoured
male visitor possibly be? Almost as soon as I asked myself the question,
the answer occurred to me. Who COULD it be but the doctor?
In the case of any other visitor, I should have allowed myself to be
discovered in the drawing-room. There would have been nothing out of the
common in my having got tired of the library, and having gone upstairs
for a change. But my own self-respect stood in the way of my meeting the
person who had insulted me by sending me back my books. I slipped into
the little third room, which I have mentioned as communicating with
the back drawing-room, and dropped the curtains which closed the open
doorway. If I only waited there for a minute or two, the usual result
in such cases would take place. That is to say, the doctor would be
conducted to his patient's room.
I waited a minute or two, and more than a minute or two. I heard the
visitor walking restlessly backwards and forwards. I also heard him
talking to himself. I even thought I recognised the voice. Had I made
a mistake? Was it not the doctor, but somebody else? Mr. Bruff, for
instance? No! an unerring instinct told me it was not Mr.
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