"But--don't you think that if Mrs. Coombe were really ill her prejudice would disappear? People do not suffer from choice, usually."

"No. That is just what puzzles me!" She did indeed look puzzled, very puzzled and very young.

"If I could help you in any way?" suggested Callandar. "You may be worrying quite needlessly."

"Do people ever consult you about their mothers behind their mother's back?"

"Often. Why not?"

"Only that it doesn't seem natural. Grown-up people--"

"Are often just as foolish as anybody else!"

"Besides, I doubt if I can make you understand." Now that the ice was broken Esther's voice was eager. "I know very little of the real trouble myself. It seems to be just a general state of health. But it varies so.

Sometimes she seems quite well, bright, cheerful, ready for anything!

Then again she is depressed, nervous, irritable. She has desperate headaches which come on at intervals. They are nervous headaches, she says, and are so bad that she shuts herself up in her room and will not let any of us in. She will not eat. I--I don't know very much about it, you see."

"You know a little more than that, I think, perhaps when you know me better?--It is, after all, a matter of trusting one's doctor."

"I do trust you. But feelings are so difficult to put into words. And the greatest dread I have about mother's illness is only a feeling, a feeling as if I knew, without quite knowing, that the trouble is deeper than appears. Jane feels it too, so it can't be all imagination. It is caused, I think, by a change in mother herself. She seems to be growing into another person--don't laugh!"

"I am not laughing. Please go on."

"Well, one thing more tangible is that the headaches, which seem to mark a kind of nervous crisis, are becoming more frequent. And the medicine--"

"But you told me that she took no medicine!"

"Did I? Then I am telling my story very badly. She has some medicine which she always takes. It is a prescription which my father gave her a few months before he died. She had a bad attack of some nervous trouble then which seems to have been the beginning of everything. But that time she recovered and it was not until after father's death that the headaches began again. Father's prescription must, long ago, have lost all effect, or why should the trouble get worse rather than better? But mother will not hear a word on the subject. She will take that medicine and nothing else."

"Do you know what the medicine is?"

"No. Father used to fill it for her himself. She says it is a very difficult prescription and she never has it filled in town, always in the city."

"But why? Taylor, here, is quite capable of filling any prescription. He is a most capable dispenser."

"Yes--I know. But mother will not believe it."

"And you say it does her no good whatever?"

"She thinks that it does. She has a wonderful belief in it. But she gets no better."

The doctor looked very thoughtful.

"She will not allow you to try any kind of compress for her head?"

"No. She locks her door. And I am sure she suffers, for sometimes when I have gone up hoping to help I have heard such strange sounds, as if she were delirious. It frightens me!"

"Does she talk of her illness?"

"Never, and she is furious if I do. She says she is quite well and indeed no one would think that anything serious was wrong unless they lived in the house. Any one outside would be sure that I am worrying needlessly. Am I, do you think?"

"I can't think until I know more. But from what you tell me, it looks as if this medicine she is taking might have something to do with it. If it does no good, it probably does harm. Perhaps it was never intended to be used as she is using it. Otherwise, as you say, the attacks would diminish. At the same time a blind faith in a certain medicine is not at all uncommon. One meets it constantly. Also the prejudice against consulting a physician. It is probable that Mrs. Coombe does not realise that she is steadily growing worse. Could you let me examine the medicine?"

Esther hesitated.

"It is kept locked up. But, I might manage it. If I asked her for it she would certainly refuse. I--I should hate to steal it," miserably.

"I see. Well, try asking first. It is just a question of how far one has the right to interfere with another's deliberately chosen course of action. The medicine is probably injurious, even dangerous. I should warn her, at least. If she will do nothing and you still feel responsible I should say that you have a moral right to have your own mind rea.s.sured upon the matter."

Esther smiled. "I believe I feel rea.s.sured already. Perhaps I have been foolishly apprehensive and it never occurred to me that the medicine might be at fault; at the worst I thought it might be useless, not harmful. If I could only manage to have you see it without _taking_ it!

There must be a way. I'll think of something and let you know."

"Do." The doctor picked up his hat for the second time. He was genuinely interested. He had not expected to find a problem of any complexity in sleepy Coombe. The cases of Aunt Amy and the peculiar Mrs. Coombe seemed to justify his staying on. It was pleasant also to help this charming young girl--although that, naturally, was a secondary consideration!

Esther ran upstairs with a lightened heart.

CHAPTER X

"I really could not help being late, Esther! I tried to hurry them but Mrs. Lewis was there. You know what _she_ is!"

Mrs. Coombe sank gracefully into a veranda chair. Out of the corners of her eyes she cast a swift glance at the face of her step-daughter and, as the girl was not looking, permitted herself a tiny smile of malicious amus.e.m.e.nt. She was a small woman but one in whom smallness was charm and not defect. Once she had been exceedingly pretty; she was moderately pretty still. The narrow oval of her face remained unspoiled but the small features, once delicately clear, appeared in some strange way to be blurred and coa.r.s.ened. The fine grained skin which should have been delicate and firm had coa.r.s.ened also and upon close inspection showed mult.i.tudes of tiny lines. Her fluffy hair was very fair, ashy fair almost, and would have been startlingly lovely only that it, too, was spoiled by a dryness and lack of gloss which spoke of careless treatment or ill health, or both. Still, at a little distance, Mary Coombe appeared a young and attractive woman. The surprise came when one looked into her eyes. Her eyes did not fit the face at all; they were old eyes, tired yet restless, and clouded with a peculiar film which robbed them of all depth. Curiously disturbing eyes they were, like windows with the blinds down!

If her eyes were restless, her hands were restless too and she kept snapping the catch of her hand-bag with an irritating click as she spoke.

"I know I ought to have been here when the doctor called to see Amy,"

she went on, "but I could not get away. Mrs. Lewis talked and talked.

That woman is worse than Tennyson's brook. She makes me want to scream!

I wonder," musingly, "what would happen if I should jump up some day and scream and scream? I think I'll try it."

"Do!"

"What did Doctor Paragon-what's-his-name say about Amy?"

"He thinks we have been treating Aunt Amy wrongly. He thinks she should be humoured more. His name is Callandar."

"Callandar? What an odd name! It sounds half-familiar. I must have heard it somewhere. There is a Dr. Callandar in Montreal, isn't there? A specialist or something."

"I think this is the same man. But if it is he, doesn't want it known.

He is here for his health, and he has never taken the trouble to correct the impression that he is a beginner working up a practice. I thought so myself at first."

"At first?"

"When I first saw him. I have met him several times."