that young lady would not boldly assert her right to her place in the school-room; appeal loudly to the squire, and, perhaps, declare her determination of marrying the heir, out before them all. The squire would be sure to uphold her in that, or in anything else.
And then, too, there would be the greatest difficulty in wording her request to the doctor; and Lady Arabella was sufficiently conscious of her own weakness to know that she was not always very good at words. But the doctor, when hard pressed, was never at fault: he could say the bitterest things in the quietest tone, and Lady Arabella had a great dread of these bitter things. What, also, if he should desert her himself; withdraw from her his skill and knowledge of her bodily wants and ailments now that he was so necessary to her? She had once before taken to that measure of sending to Barchester for Dr. Fillgrave, but it had answered with her hardly better than with Sir Roger and Lady Scatcherd.
When, therefore, Lady Arabella found herself alone with the doctor, and called upon to say out her say in what best language she could select for the occasion, she did not feel to be very much at her ease. There was that about the man before her which cowed her, in spite of her being the wife of the squire, the sister of an earl, a person quite acknowledged to be of the great world, and the mother of the very important young man whose affections were now about to be called in question. Nevertheless, there was the task to be done, and with a mother's courage she essayed it.
'Dr. Thorne,' said she, as soon as their medical conference was at an end, 'I am very glad you came over to-day, for I had something special which I wanted to say to you:' so far she got, and then stopped; but, as the doctor did not seem inclined to give her any assistance, she was forced to flounder on as best she could.
'Something very particular, indeed. You know what a respect and esteem, and I may say affection, we all have for you,'—here the doctor made a low bow—'and I may say for Mary also;' here the doctor bowed himself again. 'We have done what little we could to be pleasant neighbours, and I think you'll believe me when I say that I am a true friend to you and dear Mary—'
The doctor knew that something very unpleasant was coming, but he could not at all guess what might be its nature. He felt, however, that he must say something; so he expressed a hope that he was duly sensible of all the acts of kindness he had ever received from the squire and the family at large.
'I hope, therefore, my dear doctor, you won't take amiss what I am going to say.'
