“What’s this you’ve been doing?” asked the Young Doctor, with a
quizzical smile. “We never can tell where you’ll break out.”
“Kitty Tynan’s measles!” she rejoined, swinging her hat by its ribbon.
“Mine isn’t a one-sided character, is it?”
“I know one of the sides quite well,” returned the Young Doctor.
“Which, please, sir?”
The Young Doctor pretended to look wise. “The outside. I read it like a
book. It fits the life in which it moves like the paper on the wall. But
I’m not sure of the inside. In fact, I don’t think I know that at all.”
“So I couldn’t call you in if my character was sick inside, could I?”
she asked obliquely.
“I might have an operation, and see what’s wrong with it,” he answered
playfully.
Suddenly she shivered. “I’ve had enough of operations to last me
awhile,” she rejoined. “I thought I could stand anything, but your
operation on Mr. Crozier taught me a lesson. I’d never be a doctor’s
wife if I had to help him cut up human beings.”
“I’ll remember that,” the Young Doctor replied mockingly.
“But if it would help put things on a right basis, I’d make a bargain
that I wasn’t to help do the carving,” she rejoined wickedly. The Young
Doctor always incited her to say daring things. They understood each
other well. “So don’t let that stand in the way,” she added slyly.
“The man who marries you will be glad to get you without the anatomy,”
he returned gallantly.
“I wasn’t talking of a man; I was talking of a doctor.”
He threw up a hand and his eyebrows. “Isn’t a doctor a man?”
“Those I’ve seen have been mostly fish.”
“No feelings--eh?”
She looked him in the eyes, and he felt a kind of shiver go through him.
“Not enough to notice. I never observed you had any,” she replied. “If I
saw that you had, I’d be so frightened I’d fly. I’ve seen pictures of
an excited whale turning a boat full of men over. No, I couldn’t bear to
see you show any feeling.”
The dark eyes of the Young Doctor suddenly took on a look which was
a stranger to them. In his relations with women he was singularly
impersonal, but he was a man, and he was young enough to feel the Adam
stir in him. The hidden or controlled thing suddenly emerged. It was not
the look which would be in his eyes if he were speaking to the woman he
wanted to marry. Kitty saw it, and she did not understand it, for she
had at heart a feeling that she could go to him in any trouble of life
and be sure of healing. To her he seemed wonderful; but she thought of
him as she would have thought of her father, as a person of authority
and knowledge--that operation showed him a great man, she thought, so
skillful and precise and splendid; and the whole countryside had such
confidence in him.
She regarded him as a being apart; but for a moment, an ominous moment,
he was almost one with that race of men who feed in strange pastures.
She only half saw the reddish glow which came swimming into his eyes,
and she did not realise it, for she did not expect to find it there.
For an instant, however, he saw with new eyes that primary eloquence of
woman life, the unspent splendour of youth, the warm joy of the material
being, the mystery of maidenhood in all its efflorescence. It was the
emergence of his own youth again, as why should it not be, since he
had never married and had never dallied! But in a moment it was gone
again--driven away.
“What a wicked little flirt you are!” he said, with a shake of the head.
“You’ll come to a bad end, if you don’t change your ways.”
“Perform an operation, then, if you think you know what’s the matter
with me,” she retorted. “Sometimes in operating for one disease we come
on another, and then there’s a lot of thinking to be done.”
The look in her face was quizzical, yet there was a strange, elusive
gravity in her eyes, an almost pathetic appealing. “If you were going to
operate on me, what would it be for?” she asked more flippantly than her
face showed.
“Well, it’s obscure, and the symptoms are not usual, but I should strike
for the cancer love,” he answered, with a direct look.
She flushed and changed on the instant. “Is love a cancer?” she asked.
All at once she felt sure that he read her real story, and something
very like anger quickened in her.
“Unrequited love is,” he answered deliberately. “How do you know it is
unrequited?” she asked sharply.
“Well, I don’t know it,” he answered, dismayed by the look in her face.
“But I certainly hope I’m right. I do, indeed.”
“And if you were right, what would you do--as a surgeon?” she
questioned, with an undertone of meaning.
“I would remove the cause of the disease.”
She came close and looked him straight in the eyes. “You mean that he
should go? You think that would cure the disease? Well, you are not
going to interfere. You are not going to manoeuvre anything to get him
away--I know doctors’ tricks. You’d say he must go away east or west
to the sea for change of air to get well. That’s nonsense, and it isn’t
necessary. You are absolutely wrong in your diagnosis--if that’s what
you call it. He is going to stay here. You aren’t going to drive away
one of our boarders and take the bread out of our mouths. Anyhow, you’re
wrong. You think because a girl worships a man’s ability that she’s in
love with him. I adore your ability, but I’d as soon fall in love with a
lobster--and be boiled with the lobster in a black pot. Such conceit men
have!”
He was not convinced. He had a deep-seeing eye, and he saw that she was
boldly trying to divert his belief or suspicion. He respected her for
it. He might have said he loved her for it--with a kind of love which
can be spoken of without blushing or giving cause to blush, or reason
for jealousy, anger, or apprehension.
He smiled down into her gold-brown eyes, and he thought what a real
woman she was. He felt, too, that she would tell him something that
would give him further light if he spoke wisely now.
“I’d like to see some proof that you are right, if I am wrong,” he
answered cautiously.
“Well, I’m going to be married,” she said, with an air of finality.
He waved a hand deprecatingly. “Impossible--there’s no man worth it. Who
is the undeserving wretch?”
“I’ll tell you to-morrow,” she replied. “He doesn’t know yet how happy
he’s going to be. What did you come here for? Why did you want to see
me?” she added. “You had something you were going to tell me. Hadn’t
you?”
“That’s quite right,” he replied. “It’s about Crozier. This is my last
visit to him professionally. He can go on now without my care. Yours
will be sufficient for him. It has been all along the very best care he
could have had. It did more for him than all the rest, it--”
“You don’t mean that,” she interrupted, with a flush and a bosom that
leaped under her pretty gown. “You don’t mean that I was of more use
than the nurse--than the future Mrs. Jesse Bulrush?”
“I mean just that,” he answered. “Nearly every sick person, every sick
man, I should say, has his mascot, his ministering angel, as it were.
It’s a kind of obsession, and it often means life or death, whether the
mascot can stand the strain of the situation. I knew an old man--down by
Dingley’s Flat it was, and he wanted a boy--his grand-nephew-beside him
always. He was getting well, but the boy took sick and the old man died
the next day. The boy had been his medicine. Sometimes it’s a particular
nurse that does the trick; but whoever it is, it’s a great vital fact.
Well, that’s the part you played to Mr. Shiel Crozier of Lammis and
Castlegarry aforetime. He owes you much.”
“I am glad of that,” she said softly, her eyes on the distance.
“She is in love with him in spite of what she says,” remarked the Young
Doctor to himself. “Well,” he continued aloud, “the fact is, Crozier’s
almost well in a way, but his mind is in a state, and he is not going to
get wholly right as things are. Since things came out in court, since he
told us his whole story, he has been different. It’s as though--”
She interrupted him hastily and with suppressed emotion. “Yes, yes,
do you think I’ve not noticed that? He’s been asleep in a way for five
years, and now he’s awake again. He is not James Gathorne Kerry now;
he is James Shiel Gathorne Crozier, and--oh, you understand: he’s back
again where he was before--before he left her.”
The Young Doctor nodded approvingly. “What a little brazen wonder you
are! I declare you see more than--”
“Yet you won’t have me?” she asked mockingly. “You’re too clever for
me,” he rejoined with spirit. “I’m too conceited. I must marry a girl
that’d kneel to me and think me as wise as Socrates. But he’s back
again, as you say, and, in my view, his wife ought to be back again
also.”
“She ought to be here,” was Kitty’s swift reply, “though I think mighty
little of her--mighty little, I can tell you. Stuckup, great tall stork
of a woman, that lords it over a man as though she was a goddess. Wears
diamonds in the middle of the day, I suppose, and cold-blooded as--as a
fish.”
“She ought to have married me, according to your opinion of me. You said
I was a fish,” remarked the Young Doctor, with a laugh.
“The whale and the catfish!”
“Heavens, what spite!” he rejoined. “Catfish--what do you know about
Mrs. Crozier? You may be brutally unjust--waspishly unjust, I should
say.”
“Do I look like a wasp?” she asked half tearfully. She was in a strange
mood.
“You look like a golden busy bee,” he answered. “But tell me, how did
you come to know enough about her to call her a cat?”
“Because, as you say, I was a busy golden bee,” she retorted.
“That information doesn’t get me much further,” he answered.
“I opened that letter,” she replied.
“‘That letter’--you mean you opened the letter he showed us which he had
left sealed as it came to him five years ago?” The Young Doctor’s face
wore a look of dismay.
“I steamed the envelope open--how else could I have done it! I steamed
it open, saw what I wanted, and closed it up again.”
The Young Doctor’s face was pale now. This was a terrible revelation. He
had a man’s view of such conduct. He almost shrank from her, though she
stood there as inviting and innocent a specimen of girlhood as the eye
could wish to see. She did not look dishonourable.
“Do you realise what that means?” he asked in a cold, hard tone.
“Oh, come, don’t put on that look and don’t talk like John the
Evangelist,” she retorted. “I did it, not out of curiosity, and not to
do any one harm, but to do her good--his wife.”
“It was dishonourable--wicked and dishonourable.”
“If you talk like that, Mr. Piety, I’m off,” she rejoined, and she
started away.
“Wait--wait,” he said, laying firm fingers on her arm. “Of course you
did it for a good purpose. I know. You cared enough for him for that.”
He had said the right thing, and she halted and faced him. “I cared
enough to do a good deal more than that if necessary. He has been like a
second father to me, and--”
Suddenly a light of humour shot into the eyes of both. Sheil Crozier as
a “father” to her was too artificial not to provoke their sense of the
grotesque.
“I wanted to find out his wife’s address to write to her and tell her to
come quick,” she explained. “It was when he was at the worst. And then,
too, I wanted to know the kind of woman she was before I wrote to her.
So--”
“You mean to say you read that letter which he had kept unopened and
unread for five long years?” The Young Doctor was certainly disturbed
again.
“Every word of it,” Kitty answered shamelessly, “and I’m not sorry. It
was in a good cause. If he had said, ‘Courage, soldier,’ and opened it
five years ago, it would have been good for him. Better to get things
like that over.”
“It was that kind of a letter, was it--a catfish letter?”
Kitty laughed a little scornfully. “Yes, just like that, Mr. Easily
Shocked. Great, showy, purse-proud creature!”
“And you wrote to her?”
“Yes--a letter that would make her come if anything would. Talk of
tact--I was as smooth as a billiard-ball. But she hasn’t come.”
“The day after the operation I cabled to her,” said the Young Doctor.
“Then you steamed the letter open and read it too?” asked Kitty
sarcastically.
“Certainly not. Ladies first-and last,” was the equally sarcastic
answer. “I cabled to Castlegarry, his father’s place, also to Lammis
that he mentioned when he told us his story. Crozier of Lammis, he was.”
“Well, I wrote to the London address in the letter,” added Kitty. “I
don’t think she’ll come. I asked her to cable me, and she hasn’t. I
wrote such a nice letter, too. I did it for his sake.”
The Young Doctor laid his hands on both her shoulders. “Kitty Tynan, the
man who gets you will get what he doesn’t deserve,” he remarked.
“That might mean anything.”
“It means that Crozier owes you more than he can guess.”
Her eyes shone with a strange, soft glow. “In spite of opening the
letter?”
The Young Doctor nodded, then added humorously: “That letter you wrote
her--I’m not sure that my cable wouldn’t have far more effect than your
letter.”
“Certainly not. You tried to frighten her, but I tried to coax her, to
make her feel ashamed. I wrote as though I was fifty.”
The Young Doctor regarded her dubiously. “What was the sort of thing you
said to her?”
“For one thing, I said that he had every comfort and attention two
loving women and one fond nurse could give him; but that, of course, his
legitimate wife would naturally be glad to be beside him when he passed
away, and that if she made haste she might be here in time.”
The Young Doctor leaned against a tree shaking with laughter.
“What are you smiling at?” Kitty asked ironically. “Oh, she’ll be sure
to come--nothing will keep her away after being coaxed like that!” he
said, when he could get breath.
“Laughing at me as though I was a clown in a circus!” she exclaimed.
“Laughing when, as you say yourself, the man that she--the cat--wrote
that fiendish letter to is in trouble.”
“It was a fiendish letter, was it?” he asked, suddenly sobered again.
“No, no, don’t tell me,” he added, with a protesting gesture. “I don’t
want to hear. I don’t want to know. I oughtn’t to know. Besides, if she
comes, I don’t want to be prejudiced against her. He is troubled, poor
fellow.”
“Of course he is. There’s the big land deal--his syndicate. He’s got
a chance of making a fortune, and he can’t do it because--but Jesse
Bulrush told me in confidence, so I can’t explain.”
“I have an idea, a pretty good idea. Askatoon is small.”
“And mean sometimes.”
“Tell me what you know. Perhaps I can help him,” urged the Young Doctor.
“I have helped more than one good man turn a sharp corner here.”
She caught his arm. “You are as good as gold.”
“You are--impossible,” he replied.
They talked of Crozier’s land deal and syndicate as they walked slowly
towards the house. Mrs. Tynan met them at the door, a look of excitement
in her face. “A telegram for you Kitty,” she said.
“For me!” exclaimed Kitty eagerly. “It’s a year since I had one.”
She tore open the yellow envelope. A light shot up in her face. She
thrust the telegram into the Young Doctor’s hands.
“She’s coming; his wife’s coming. She’s in Quebec now. It was my
letter--my letter, not your cable, that brought her,” Kitty added
triumphantly.