“I don’t think so,” said he.  “It isn’t a question of medicine.”

“Then what is it a question of?” Sophia demanded bluntly.

“Nerves,” he said.  “It’s nearly all nerves.  I know something about Mrs. Povey’s constitution now, and I was hoping that your visit would do her good.”

“She’s been quite well—­I mean what you may call quite well—­until the day before yesterday, when she sat in that draught.  She was better last night, and then this morning I find her ever so much worse.”

“No worries?” The doctor looked at her confidentially.

“What can she have in the way of worries?” exclaimed Sophia.  “That’s to say—­real worries.”

“Exactly!” the doctor agreed.

“I tell her she doesn’t know what worry is,” said Sophia.

“So do I!” said the doctor, his eyes twinkling.

“She was a little upset because she didn’t receive her usual Sunday letter from Cyril yesterday.  But then she was weak and low.”

“Clever youth, Cyril!” mused the doctor.

“I think he’s a particularly nice boy,” said Sophia, eagerly,

“So you’ve seen him?”

“Of course,” said Sophia, rather stiffly.  Did the doctor suppose that she did not know her own nephew?  She went back to the subject of her sister.  “She is also a little bothered, I think, because the servant is going to leave.”

“Oh!  So Amy is going to leave, is she?” He spoke still lower.  “Between you and me, it’s no bad thing.”

“I’m so glad you think so.”

“In another few years the servant would have been the mistress here.  One can see these things coming on, but it’s so difficult to do anything.  In fact ye can’t do anything.”

“I did something,” said Sophia, sharply.  “I told the woman straight that it shouldn’t go on while I was in the house.  I didn’t suspect it at first—­but when I found it out ...  I can tell you!” She let the doctor imagine what she could tell him.

He smiled.  “No,” he said.  “I can easily understand that ye didn’t suspect anything at first.  When she’s well and bright Mrs. Povey could hold her own—­so I’m told.  But it was certainly slowly getting worse.”

“Then people talk about it?” said Sophia, shocked.

“As a native of Bursley, Mrs. Scales,” said the doctor, “ye ought to know what people in Bursley do!” Sophia put her lips together.  The doctor rose, smoothing his waistcoat.  “What does she bother with servants at all for?” he burst out.  “She’s perfectly free.  She hasn’t got a care in the world, if she only knew it.  Why doesn’t she go out and about, and enjoy herself?  She wants stirring up, that’s what your sister wants.”

“You’re quite right,” Sophia burst out in her turn.  “That’s precisely what I say to myself; precisely!  I was thinking it over only this morning.  She wants stirring up.  She’s got into a rut.”

“She needs to be jolly.  Why doesn’t she go to some seaside place, and live in a hotel, and enjoy herself?  Is there anything to prevent her?”