as in affairs relating to his boots and buttons, she should tell him what to do and he should do it.  McQueen had introduced his assistant to this partnership half-shamefacedly and with a cautious wink over the little girl’s head; and Gemmell fell into line at once, showing her his new stethoscope as gravely as if he must abandon it at once should not she approve, which fine behaviour, however, was quite thrown away on Grizel, who, had he conducted himself otherwise, would merely have wondered what was the matter with the man; and as she was eighteen or more before she saw that she had exceeded her duties, it was then, of course, too late to cease doing it.

She knew now how good, how forbearing, he had been to the little girl, and that it was partly because he was acquainted with her touching history.  The grave courtesy with which he had always treated her—­and which had sometimes given her as a girl a secret thrill of delight, it was so sweet to Grizel to be respected—­she knew now to be less his natural manner to women than something that came to him in her presence because he who knew her so well thought her worthy of deference; and it helped her more, far more, than if she had seen it turn to love.  Yet as she received him in her parlor now—­her too spotless parlor, for not even the ashes in the grate were visible, which is a mistake—­she was not very friendly.  He had discovered what Tommy was, and as she had been the medium she could not blame him for that, but how could he look as calm as ever when such a deplorable thing had happened?

“What you say is true; I knew it before I asked you to go to him, and I knew you would find it out; but please to remember that he is a man of genius, whom it is not for such as you to judge.”

That was the sort of haughty remark she held ready for him while they talked of other cases; but it was never uttered, for by and by he said: 

“And then, there is Mr. Sandys’s ankle.  A nasty accident, I am afraid.”

Was he jesting?  She looked at him sharply.  “Have you not been to see him yet?” she asked.

He thought she had misunderstood him.  He had been to see Mr. Sandys twice, both last night and this morning.

And he was sure it was a sprain?

Unfortunately it was something worse—­dislocation; further mischief might show itself presently.

“Haemorrhage into the neighbouring joint on inflammation?” she asked scientifically and with scorn.

“Yes.”

Grizel turned away from him.  “I think not,” she said.

Well, possibly not, if Mr. Sandys was careful and kept his foot from the ground for the next week.  The doctor did not know that she was despising him, and he proceeded to pay Tommy a compliment.  “I had to reduce the dislocation, of course,” he told her, “and he bore the wrench splendidly, though there is almost no pain more acute.”

“Did he ask you to tell me that?” Grizel was thirsting to inquire, but she forbore.  Unwittingly, however, the doctor answered the question.  “I could see,” he said, “that Mr. Sandys made light of his sufferings to save his sister pain.  I cannot recall ever having seen a brother and sister so attached.”