Cautley as he stretched himself on two armchairs in an attitude of reckless ease.  His very intellect (the most unrestful part of him) was at rest; all his weary being merged in a confused voluptuous sensation, a beatific state in which smoking became a higher kind of thinking, and thought betrayed an increasing tendency to end in smoke.  The room was double-walled with book-shelves, and but for the far away underground humming of a happy maidservant the house was soundless.  He rejoiced to think that there was not a soul in it above stairs to disturb his deep tranquility.  At six o’clock he would have to take his legs off that chair, and get into a frock-coat; once in the frock-coat he would become another man, all patience and politeness.  After six there would be no pipe and no peace for him, but the knocking and ringing at his front door would go on incessantly till seven-thirty.  There was flattery in every knock, for it meant that Dr. Cautley was growing eminent, and that at the ridiculously early age of nine-and-twenty.

There was a sharp ring now.  He turned wearily in his chairs.

“There’s another damned patient,” said Dr. Cautley.

He was really so eminent that he could afford to think blasphemously of patients; and he had no love for those who came to consult him before their time.  He sat up with his irritable nerves on edge.  The servant was certainly letting somebody in, and from the soft rustling sounds in the hall he gathered that somebody was a woman; much patience and much politeness would then be required of him, and he was feeling anything but patient and polite.

“Miss Rhoda Vivian” was the name on the card that was brought to him.  He did not know Miss Rhoda Vivian.

The gas-jets were turned low in the consulting-room; when he raised them he saw a beautiful woman standing by the fire in an attitude of impatience.  He had kept her waiting; and it seemed that this adorable person knew the value of time.  She was not going to waste words either.  As it was impossible to associate her with the ordinary business of the place, he was prepared for her terse and lucid statement of somebody else’s case.  He said he would look round early in the morning (Miss Vivian looked dissatisfied); or perhaps that evening (Miss Vivian was dubious); or possibly at once (Miss Vivian smiled in hurried approval).  She was eager to be gone.  And when she had gone he stood deliberating.  Miss Quincey was a pathological abstraction, Miss Vivian was a radiant reality; it was clear that Miss Quincey was not urgent, and that once safe in her bed she could very well wait till to-morrow; but when he thought of Miss Vivian he became impressed with the gravity and interest of Miss Quincey’s case.