Miss Caroline always received me, and kept me talking in her washed-out
style, after I had seen my patient. One day she told me she thought she
had a weakness about the heart, and would be glad if I would bring my
stethoscope the next time, which I accordingly did! and, while I was on
my hands and knees listening to the pulsations, one of the young ladies
came in. She said:
“Oh, dear! I never! I beg your pardon, ma’am,” and scuttled out. There
was not much the matter with Miss Caroline’s heart: a little feeble in
action or so, a mere matter of weakness and general languor. When I went
down I saw two or three of the girls peeping out of the half-closed
schoolroom door, but they shut it immediately, and I heard them laughing.
The next time I called, Miss Tomkinson was sitting in state to receive me.
“Miss Tyrrell’s throat does not seem to make much progress. Do you
understand the case, Mr. Harrison, or should we have further advice. I
think Mr. Morgan would probably know more about it.”
I assured her it was the simplest thing in the world; that it always
implied a little torpor in the constitution, and that we preferred
working through the system, which of course was a slow process; and that
the medicine the young lady was taking (iodide of iron) was sure to be
successful, although the progress would not be rapid. She bent her head
and said, “It might be so; but she confessed she had more confidence in
medicines which had some effect.”
She seemed to expect me to tell her something; but I had nothing to say,
and accordingly I bade good-bye. Somehow, Miss Tomkinson always managed
to make me feel very small, by a succession of snubbings; and, whenever
I left her I had always to comfort myself under her contradictions by
saying to myself, “Her saying it is so, does not make it so.” Or I
invented good retorts which I might have made to her brusque speeches, if
I had but thought of them at the right time. But it was provoking that I
had not had the presence of mind to recollect them just when they were
wanted.