Avice Gray, VIII-X [pp. 234-242]

A VICE GRA Y. 235
and formless suspicions began to group themselves
and take shape in his mind.
"I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Harmer, who
had not caught the words he had unconsciously ut tered aloud. "I did not hear what you said."
"No matter; I have a bad habit of talking to
myself sometimes. I should like to see that letter
of Fred's if you've no objection."
"Of course you can see it. I'll call Dorlde to
bring it down to you."
"Wait a moment" (as she made a step toward
the door). "There is no hurry. How is Dorade?"
"Indeed, she's very poorly; and that's another
thing I wanted to speak to you about. She don't
seem herself no more than cream is custard. She
says it's the work; but, besides that I take the heft
of all Avice used to do, she don't act like being
overworked. She might be tired nights, but then
she'd sleep instid of walking up and down; and I
know she does that, for I hear her, for all she seems
so sound asleep if I ever go to her room; and if she
didn't like the work she'd slip out of doing it, as she's
done many a time before, and not crave to do more
than I want her to. And she don't eat, coax as I
will. If I thought she fretted about Avice I shouldn't
wonder; but she don't seem to care about her dis tress at all."
The doctor reflected a moment before he spoke.
"I've been friends with you a long time, Mrs.
Harmer; you won't take it amiss if I speak what's
in my mind?"
"I'll be obliged to you, whatever you say," was
the hearty reply.
"Of course I know, as everybody else does, that
Fred wanted to marry Avice. Do you think that
Dorade was angry about it-that she took it amiss?"
"Quite contrary: she did all she could for it. I
didn't quite like it myself at first, and she made me
agree. She said she was altogether contented with
the match."
"And Fred was her favorite brother, and you might
have expected her to look higher for him; and she
does not care now for the danger and disgrace that
have fallen on Avice, and the consequent reflection of
it on Fred; nor for the unhappiness it must occasion
him?-Mrs. Harmer," he said aloud, "did you never
suspect-suspect is hardly the right word either-did
you never think that Dorade was fond of Stephen
Vanvannick?"
Mrs. Harmer fixed her eyes on the doctor in undisguised amazement.
"Mercy sakes, no! Why, she hasn't spoke to
him six times in six months, and she never could
have liked him and me not know. Besides, she
knew of his fancy for Avice as well as anybody,
and she'd be far too proud to-it couldn't be, Dr.
Wells."
"Reasons against it notwithstanding, I believe it
is," said the doctor. "These things don't go by
reason; and, if it be so, if I think right, it wsould
account for much that has puzzled me in Dorade.
Poor girl! she is much to be pitied if it be really the
case."
"But it is not; I am sure you are mistaken,"
said the mother, with a mother's repugnance to ad mit the existence of what was unknown to her.
"I'd ask her, if I was not afraid of offending-"
"Do no such thing, please!" interrupted the
doctor, hastily. "What good would it do, and what
right have we to try to discover what she has taken
such pains to conceal-that is, if I am right?-but I
am just as likely, after all, to be wrong."
He paused. Of what further thoughts were in
his mind, Mrs. Harmer was the last person he could
choose as confidante; and he hesitated how to frame
his next words.
"I have sometimes thought," he said, after a
minute's silence, "that perhaps something altogether
new and unexpected might come to light in this
matter before the trial; events take strange turns
sometimes. If any fresh evidence should come to
my knowledge or to yours, I suppose we should be
bound to give it?"
"Bound! I'd only be too glad to give any that
would help Avice."
"Whatever it might be? You would hold back
nothing?"
Something in his tone struck her, and she looked
at him hard.
"What do you mean, Dr. Wells? Have you
heard anything new? Oh! tell me if you have."
He returned the look; but, while hers was all
inquiry, in his there mingled a touch of commisera tion.
"No," he replied; "I know nothing; it was
only my own idea, and I cannot give you any reason
for it; but my mind dwells so much on the matter
that- Where is Dorade? I should like to see her.
I may perhaps be able to prescribe for her. Tell her
to bring the letter, too."
But Mrs. Harmer merely called her name, and
the girl entered the room unaware that any one but
her mother was there; and it did not escape the doctor's quick observation that her countenance changed
when she saw him. She was certainly altered,
though it might not have been easy to say how; her
pale cheek was no paler than usual, nor was the
brighltness of her eyes less vivid; nor was she depressed, for she spoke and smiled cheerfully, and, if
it were by effort, the effort was well concealed; but
the doctor felt that there was an indefinable change
in her, and received the impression that she was on
her guard, and especially against him. He could
not be sure, however, how much of this idea might
be due to his previous train of thought, and waited
to see if it received present confirmation.
"Dr. Wells is going to prescribe for you, Dorade," said her mother. "I've been telling him
you're not very well, and he's going to give you
something to do you good."
The girl flushed angrily.
"What need had you to say anything about it,
even if it was so?" she said, petulantly. "I want
nothing. I'm as well as I ever was in my life."
The doctor did not pursue the subject.
"We have been talking of Fred,. Dorade," said
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235