Stories from the Diary of a Doctor.
By the Authors of "The Medicine Lady."
VII.—THE HORROR OF STUDLEY GRANGE.
WAS in my consulting-room one morning, and had just said good-bye to the last of
my patients, when my servant came in and told me that a lady had called who pressed very earnestly for an interview with me.
"I told her that you were just going out, sir," said the man, "and she saw the carriage at the door; but she begged to see you, if only for two minutes. This is her card."
I read the words, "Lady Studley."
"Show her in," I said, hastily, and the next moment a tall, slightly-made, fair-haired girl entered the room.
She looked very young, scarcely more than twenty, and I could hardly believe that she was, what her card indicated, a married woman.
The colour rushed into her cheeks as she held out her hand to me. I motioned her to a chair, and then asked her what I could do for her.
"Oh, you can help me," she said, clasping her hands and speaking in a slightly theatrical manner. "My husband, Sir Henry Studley, is very unwell, and I want you to come to see him—can you?—will you?"
"With pleasure," I replied. "Where do you live?"
"At Studley Grange, in Wiltshire. Don't you know our place?"
"I daresay I ought to know it," I replied, "although at the present moment I can't recall the name. You want me to come to see your husband. I presume you wish me to have a consultation with his medical attendant?"
"No, no, not at all. The fact is, Sir Henry has not got a medical attendant. He dislikes doctors, and won't see one. I want you to come and stay with us for a week or so. I have heard of you through mutual friends—the Onslows. I know you can effect remarkable cures, and you have a great deal of tact. But you can't possibly do anything for my husband unless you are willing to stay in the house and to notice his symptoms."
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Lady Studley spoke with great emphasis and earnestness. Her long, slender hands were clasped tightly together. She had drawn off her gloves and was bending forward in her chair. Her big, childish, and somewhat restless blue eyes were fixed imploringly on my face.
"I love my husband," she said, tears suddenly filling them and it is dreadful, dreadful, to see him suffer as he does. He will die unless someone comes to his aid. Oh, I know I am asking an immense thing, when I beg of you to leave all your patients and come to the country. But we can pay. Money is no object whatever to us. We
