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Doctor Luttrell's First Patient

<h3> CHAPTER XII. </h3> <h3> GRETA. </h3> "For I am the only one of my friends that I can rely on."—Appolodamus. Olivia set out in good spirits to pay her call the next afternoon. It was a clear, frosty day, sunless and excessively cold, but Olivia felt a certain exhilaration in the ring of the horses' hoofs on the hard road, and the brisk exercise brought such a glow to her face, that more than one passer-by looked at her approvingly. There are no cosmetiques so beneficial as good health, happiness, and an easy conscience. Olivia, who had never been handsome, looked so fresh and comely, that many a languid beauty might have envied her. Brunswick Place was considered rather a desirable spot; it was quiet and retired, and the houses were well-built and substantial looking. They were chiefly inhabited by solicitors in good practice, and retired army men who had private means of their own. The very air was redolent of respectability and prosperity. No one with a small income would have thought of settling down in Brunswick Place. The man-servant who admitted Olivia ushered her into a large, handsomely furnished drawing-room with a conservatory opening out of it, and the next moment Miss Williams joined her. To her great surprise Olivia recognised her at once. She was the tall girl in brown that she had so often noticed in church, who was always alone, and who looked so sad. Yes, it was the same tired-looking young face, she was certain of it. "I am sure I have often seen you," she said, as they shook hands, and Miss Williams smiled. "I was just thinking the same of you. You attend St. Matthew's, do you not? I have seen you with Dr. Luttrell. Please sit down—no, not that chair. Come a little closer to the fire, it is so bitterly cold," and here she shivered a little. "I do not mind the cold as much as some people," replied Olivia, sturdily. "I am very strong and take plenty of exercise. Perhaps you have not been out; it is so difficult to keep warm indoors." "No, I have not been out," returned Miss Williams, and then she looked at Olivia. "It is very kind of you to come and see me—Mrs. Luttrell." She spoke slowly, almost deliberately, but her voice was pleasant. In her light tweed, she looked even taller than Olivia had thought her, and very thin. In spite of her pale complexion and want of animation, Miss Williams had some claims to good looks. She had soft grey eyes, with remarkably long lashes, and the coils of fair hair set off a finely shaped head. "My husband thought that you seemed rather lonely," returned Olivia, in her usual straightforward fashion. Then a faint colour rose to Miss Williams's face. "Yes, it was so kind of him to propose it, and I was very grateful. I suppose he told you that I had no friends—no one, I mean, that I could ask to come in and sit with me a little. I know the next-door people slightly. We call at intervals, and they have invited me to a party, but I have never got beyond that. It has been difficult for me to make friends. I am rather shy—and——" here she broke off rather awkwardly. "I think I know what you mean," replied Olivia. "When one is in trouble, one wants real friends, not chance acquaintances, and if one has not made them——" "Just so—that is precisely my case. Circumstances have been to blame, for I think I am sociable by nature. Dr. Luttrell was very quick; he understood at once, and he said it was not good for me to be so much alone. Oh, he was such a comfort to me. Even the first moment he did not seem like a stranger. I felt before half-an-hour was over that I could trust him implicitly. And when he suggested yesterday that you should come and cheer me up, I said yes at once." "I was very glad to come," replied Olivia, quickly. "Like yourself, I have no friends here, with the exception of another patient of my husband's, an old gentleman who lives opposite to us. So I hope you will let me be of some use to you. You know," after a moment's hesitation, "Dr. Luttrell is not one to talk about his patients, but he told me a little about your trouble." "So I imagined, and of course it makes it easier for me." And here Miss Williams's lips trembled slightly. "You could not help me or be any comfort without knowing a little. Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, is it not dreadful? My poor father, and such a good father, too. He is just killing himself, I know that." "And you are all alone?" "Yes, since my mother died. Things were bad enough then, but they have been worse since. She used to be able to influence him and keep him straight, but he will not listen to me." "Have you had this to bear long?" and Olivia looked at her pityingly. What a life for a young, sensitive girl! "For some years. Ever since Dacre, my brother, died. It was a boating accident, and they brought him home quite dead. We thought it was the shock, but Dr. Bevan, who attended him, then told us that it was due also to hereditary disease. We dared not send for Dr. Bevan the other night, though he understood him so thoroughly, and was so kind. My father had quarrelled with him, but Dr. Luttrell saw him yesterday and they had a long talk." "My husband always speaks so highly of Dr. Bevan." "Yes, and I liked him so much. He was such a comfort to me when poor mother died, and I shall always be grateful to him, but I dared not run the risk of exciting my father. He is a little better today; Dr. Luttrell says so; but of course he is coming again to-night. We have a good nurse, so things are more hopeful, but I shall have to get rid of our man. He is no use. Dr. Luttrell says I must have someone older and more reliable, who can help in an emergency. Roberts is far too young to be any real good." Olivia listened and assented. She was quick-witted enough to see that it would be better to let Miss Williams talk and unburden herself a little. The girl, in spite of a naturally shy temperament, seemed ready to open her heart to her. Perhaps Olivia's winning personality had already won her. Human nature is so strangely constituted—the laws of attraction and repulsion are so unaccountable. Some natures seem magnetic; they attract and draw us almost without our own volition. With others we make no way, months and years of intercourse will not bind us more closely. We are not on the same plane. Olivia's sympathetic manner, the pitying kindness in her eyes, appealed strongly to Greta Williams, the lonely girl—isolated by the worst curse that can affect humanity—grievous hereditary vice—the innocent scape-goat of another's sin. Alas, how many homes even in our favoured land are desolated as well as desecrated from this one cause. What piteous waste of sweet young life, crushed under unnatural burdens. The sin of England, we say—the shameful curse of diseased self-indulgence. Greta Williams seemed patient by nature; though it was a relief to talk openly to another woman, she did not complain. In spite of her father's faults, he was evidently very dear to her. "It is a disease—a madness," she said once, "but it would never do to have young people here; one could not be sure, and for his sake it is better not," and in these few words there lay a world of tragedy. To love, and yet not to be sure that the object of our love will not disgrace us. What misery to a refined and sensitive nature, to have to blush and grow pale from very shame and terror; to stretch out a helping hand to some dear one who has sunk too low to reach it. Ah, only One, the All-merciful, can rightly gauge the anguish of such a sorrow. No wonder Greta Williams looked so worn and pale, and that her eyes had grown sad. "He is worse than he has ever been," she whispered, presently. "Dr. Luttrell does not tell me, but I know he was alarmed for him that night. He has been so much better lately," she went on, with a little sob in her throat. "I had felt almost comfortable; not quite comfortable, you know, because it never really lasted, but he liked me to read to him, and we played chess; but now"—her voice dropped into weariness—"I shall never feel quite easy again." Olivia had long ago outstayed an ordinary conventional visit; but Marcus had sent her for a purpose: she was to try and cheer, and, if possible, comfort, this poor girl, so, when Greta rang for tea, she simply stayed on, and towards the end of her visit she thought her young hostess looked a shade brighter. "You will come and see me," she said when she rose to take leave; but Miss Williams hesitated. "Will you forgive me if I do not return your call just now? I simply dare not leave the house. You understand, do you not, Mrs. Luttrell? but if you would be so very kind as to come again." "Most certainly I will come again; did you think that I should not? but, dear Miss Williams, you must not shut yourself up too closely, or your health will suffer." But Greta only smiled faintly at this. "I shall tell Dr. Luttrell that you have done me good," she said, pressing Olivia's hand; "how strange it seems—there is no cure for such a trouble as mine, and yet telling you about it has seemed to make it more bearable. Oh, please come again soon—very soon," and of course Olivia readily promised this. It was rather a disappointment on her return to find Marcus had been in for tea and had gone out again. Robert Barton, who was reading by the fire, said that he would not be back for an hour or two. "Have you had a pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Luttrell?" he asked, putting down his book, and trying to stifle a yawn; but, though Olivia replied in the affirmative, she did not vouchsafe any information about her visit. When Marcus returned two hours later, he found their guest had betaken himself to bed, and Olivia was able to give him a graphic account of her afternoon. "I am very much interested in Miss Williams," she observed presently; "fancy her turning out to be the very tall girl in brown at St. Matthew's." "Did your ears burn just now, Livy," observed Marcus, mischievously. "I am glad to find someone appreciates my wife properly; you seem to have got on like a house on fire; well, you will be doing good work there." "She said you were rather alarmed about her father that first night." "Did she? I never said so," he returned, dryly; "in some cases it is best to reserve one's opinion; but of course at Mr. Williams's age it is a grave matter;" then he drew his chair closer to the fire. "Life's an awful muddle, Livy, as that man said in Hard Times; fancy the loneliness of a young creature like that; why, she cannot be more than two- or three-and-twenty, and her lawful protector drinking himself to death." Olivia shuddered, her own young life had been anxious and hardworking; but compared with Greta Williams it had been strewn with roses. Could any parents have been more honoured than hers had been? And then had she not always had Aunt Madge's wise counsel and sympathy to aid her? and, lastly, had not the sunshine of a happy love glorified it? But Miss Williams apparently had none of these things. "Not more than others I deserve, but God has given me more," she thought, with a swelling heart, as she made her thanksgiving that night. In spite of outside weather, there was plenty of life and movement in the corner house at Galvaston Terrace. The next day Mr. Barton began his sketch of Dot, and he soon became so absorbed in it that he seemed to forget his weakness and lassitude. Olivia watched the progress of the picture with intense delight, and carried a favourable report of it on her next visit to Galvaston House. "It is a striking likeness of my little girl," she said. "Even my husband, who is not easy to please in such matters, allows that. He owned yesterday that Mr. Barton is certainly a good artist, and understands his business. I like to watch him? he looks so happy when he is painting, as though he has forgotten all his troubles; he is staying with us a day or two longer on account of the picture, but he will certainly leave us on Thursday." Mr. Gaythorne did not answer; he seemed to be considering something; at last he said, rather abruptly: "Yes, Dr. Luttrell has been telling me what a clever fellow he seems, and I think I shall get him to do a little job for me. "That picture I bought at Stangrove's wants touching up; it has been injured; I knew that when I bought it; but it was so slight that it did not matter, and I meant to get it put to rights. If I send it over to-morrow or the next day, do you think Mr. Barton will undertake the job? it will only take him an hour or two." "He will gladly do so, I am sure of that. Is it the picture that my husband admired so much?" "Yes, the Prodigal Son; I bought it that day I sprained my ankle. Very well, Mrs. Luttrell, it shall be sent to your house." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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