“Certainly not.  It would be absurd.”

“I shouldn’t like to have a doctor come all the way from Boston,” mused Mrs. Maynard, sinking on the lounge again.  “There must be a doctor in the neighborhood.  It can’t be so healthy as that!”

“There’s an allopathic physician at Corbitant,” said Grace passively.  “A very good one, I believe,” she added.

“Oh, well, then!” cried Mrs. Maynard, with immense relief.  “Consult with him!”

“I’ve told you, Louise, that I would not consult with anybody.  And I certainly wouldn’t consult with a physician whose ideas and principles I knew nothing about.”

“Why but, Grace,” Mrs. Maynard expostulated.  “Is n’t that rather prejudiced?” She began to take an impartial interest in Grace’s position, and fell into an argumentative tone.  “If two heads are better than one,—­and everybody says they are,—­I don’t see how you can consistently refuse to talk with another physician.”

“I can’t explain to you, Louise,” said Grace.  “But you can call Dr. Mulbridge, if you wish.  That will be the right way for you to do, if you have lost confidence in me.”

“I have n’t lost confidence in you, Grace.  I don’t see how you can talk so.  You can give me bread pills, if you like, or air pills, and I will take them gladly.  I believe in you perfectly.  But I do think that in a matter of this kind, where my health, and perhaps my life, is concerned, I ought to have a little say.  I don’t ask you to give up your principles, and I don’t dream of giving you up, and yet you won’t just to please me!—­exchange a few words with another doctor about my case, merely because he’s allopathic.  I should call it bigotry, and I don’t see how you can call it anything else.”  There was a sound of voices at the door outside, and she called cheerily, “Come in, Mr. Libby,—­come in!  There’s nobody but Grace here,” she added, as the young man tentatively opened the door, and looked in.  He wore an evening dress, even to the white cravat, and he carried in his hand a crush hat:  there was something anomalous in his appearance, beyond the phenomenal character of his costume, and he blushed consciously as he bowed to Grace, and then at her motion shook hands with her.  Mrs. Maynard did not give herself the fatigue of rising; she stretched her hand to him from the lounge, and he took it without the joy which he had shown when Grace made him the same advance.  “How very swell you look.  Going to an evening party this morning?” she cried; and after she had given him a second glance of greater intensity, “Why, what in the world has come over’ you?” It was the dress which Mr. Libby wore.  He was a young fellow far too well made, and carried himself too alertly, to look as if any clothes misfitted him; his person gave their good cut elegance, but he had the effect of having fallen away in them.  “Why, you look as if you had been sick a month!” Mrs. Maynard interpreted.

The young man surveyed himself with a downward glance.  “They’re Johnson’s,” he explained.  “He had them down for a hop at the Long Beach House, and sent over for them.  I had nothing but my camping flannels, and they have n’t been got into shape yet, since yesterday.  I wanted to come over and see how you were.”