octor gave it up. Masculine superiority would have to stand over.
But he couldn't see his way, on human grounds, profundity apart. "What
is so horribly staggering," said he, "is that after fifty years these
two should actually see each other and still be in the dark. And the way
it came about! The amazing coincidences!" The doctor spoke as if such
unblushing coincidences ought to be ashamed of themselves.

Gwen took this to be his meaning, apparently. "_I_ can't help it, Dr.
Nash," she said. "If they had told me they were going to happen, I might
have been able to do something. Besides, there was only one, if you come
to think of it--the little boy being sent to Widow Thrale's to
convalesce. It was my cousin, Miss Grahame, who did it.... Yes, thank
you!--she is going on very well, and Dr. Dalrymple hopes she will make a
very good recovery. He fussed a good deal about her lungs, but they seem
all right...." The conversation fluctuated to Typhus Fever for a moment,
but was soon recalled by the young lady, whose visit had a definite
purpose. "Now, Dr. Nash, I have a favour to ask of you, which is what I
came for. It occurred to me when I heard that you would be going to
Dessington Manor this morning." The doctor professed his readiness, or
eagerness, to do anything in his power to oblige Lady Gwendolen Rivers,
but evidently had no idea what it could possibly be. "You will be close
to Costrell's farm, where the other old lady is staying with her
granddaughter?"

"I shall. But what can I do?"

"You can, perhaps, help me in the very difficult job of making the truth
known to her and her sister. I say perhaps, because you may find you can
do nothing. I shall not blame you if you fail. But you can at least
try."

It would have been difficult to refuse anything to the animated beauty
of his petitioner, even if she had been the humblest of his village
patients. The doctor pledged himself to make the attempt, without
hesitation, saying to himself as he did so that this would be a
wonderful woman some day, with a little more experience and maturity.
"But," said he, "I never promised to do anything with a vaguer idea of
what I was to do, nor how I was to set about it."

Gwen's earnestness had no pause for a smile. "It is easier than you
think," she said, "if you only make up your mind to it. It is easy for
you, because your medical interest in old Mrs. Prichard's case makes it
possible for you to _entamer_ the conversation. You