Anne sat down at once and wrote a brief note to Sir Alexander.  It happened that the message sent to Mr. Brook had found that gentleman away from home, and the greater man arrived first.  He looked at the child, asked a few bland questions, and wrote a prescription.  He did not say what the illness might be:  for he never hazarded a premature opinion.  As he was leaving the chamber, a servant accosted him.

“Lady Kirton wishes to see you, sir.”

“Well, Pepps,” cried she, as he advanced, having loaded herself with camphor, “what is it?”

“I do not take upon myself to pronounce an opinion, Lady Kirton,” rejoined the doctor, who had grown to feel irritated lately at the dowager’s want of ceremony towards him.  “In the early stage of a disorder it can rarely be done with certainty.”

“Now don’t let’s have any of that professional humbug, Pepps,” rejoined her ladyship.  “You doctors know a common disorder as soon as you see it, only you think it looks wise not to say.  Is it small-pox?”

“It’s not impossible,” said the doctor, in his wrath.

The dowager gasped.

“But I do not observe any symptoms of that malady developing themselves at present,” added the doctor.  “I think I may say it is not small-pox.”

“Good patience, Pepps! you’ll frighten me into it.  It is and it isn’t—­what do you mean?  What is it, if it’s not that?”

“I may be able to tell after a second visit.  Good morning, Lady Kirton,” said he, backing out.  “Take care you don’t do yourself an injury with too much of that camphor.  It is exciting.”

In a short time Mr. Brook arrived.  When he had seen the child and was alone with Lady Hartledon, she explained that the countess-dowager had wished Sir Alexander Pepps called in, and showed him the prescription just written.  He read it and laid it down.

“Lady Hartledon,” said he, “I must venture to disagree with that prescription.  Lord Elster’s symptoms are those of scarlet-fever, and it would be unwise to administer it.  Sir Alexander stands of course much higher in the profession than I do, but my practice with children is larger than his.”

“I feared it was scarlet-fever,” answered Lady Hartledon.  “What is to be done?  I have every confidence in you, Mr. Brook; and were Edward my own child, I should know how to act.  Do you think it would be dangerous to give him this prescription?  You may speak confidentially.”

“Not dangerous; it is a prescription that will do neither harm nor good.  I suspect Sir Alexander could not detect the nature of the illness, and wrote this merely to gain time.  It is not an infrequent custom to do so.  In my opinion, not an hour should be lost in giving him a more efficacious medicine; early treatment is everything in scarlet-fever.”

Lady Hartledon had been rapidly making up her mind.  “Send in what you think right to be taken, immediately,” she said, “and meet Sir Alexander in consultation later on.”