Doctor Luttrells First Patient | Page 5

gloves, when her hands would soon be as red and rough
as Martha's. Olivia was just a little vain of her hands; they were not
small, but the long slender fingers with almond-shaped nails were full
of character, and Marcus had often praised them.
For his sake she would try to take care of them, but black-leading
stoves and washing Dot's little garments would not help to beautify
them. Of course, it was nonsense to care about such trifles, she must be
strong-minded and live above such sublunary things. Marcus would
only honour her the more for her self-forgetfulness and labours of love.
Here the pucker vanished from Olivia's brow, and a sweet, earnest look
came to her face.

The next moment her attention was distracted; a tall old man in a
great-coat with a fur-lined collar passed the window; he was a little
bent and walked feebly, leaning on a gold-headed stick.
Olivia watched him until he was out of sight; for some occult reason,
not comprehensible even to her, she felt interested in the old man,
although she had never spoken to him; but he looked old and ill and
lonely; three decided claims on Olivia's bountiful and sympathetic
nature.
She knew his name--Mr. Gaythorne--he was a neighbour of theirs, and
he lived at Galvaston House, the dull-looking red brick house, with two
stone lions on the gate-posts.
Olivia had amused her husband more than once with imaginary stories
about their neighbour. "He was a miser--a recluse--a misanthrope--he
had a wife in a lunatic asylum--he had known some great trouble that
had embittered his life; he had made a vow never to let a human being
cross his threshold; he was a Roman Catholic priest in disguise, an
Agnostic, a Nihilist." There was no end to Olivia's quaint surmises, but
she could only be certain of two facts--that the mysterious Mr.
Gaythorne was methodical by nature, and whatever might be the
weather always took his exercise at the same hour, and also that only
tradespeople entered the lion-guarded portals of Galvaston House.
Olivia had only once come face to face with him. She was hurrying
along one afternoon, when in turning a corner she almost ran against
him, and pulled herself up with a confused word of apology.
A suppressed grunt answered her, a singular old face, with bright,
deeply-sunken eyes, and a white, peaked beard and moustache seemed
to rise stiffly from the fur-lined collar; then the old man's hand touched
his slouched hat mechanically, and he walked on. It was that night that
Olivia was convinced that Mr. Gaythorne was a Nihilist and an
Agnostic, and hinted darkly at the storage of dynamite and infernal
machines in the cellars of Galvaston House.
"My dear child, you might write a novel," had been her husband's

remark on this. "Your imagination is really immense," but in spite of
sarcasm and gibes on Marcus's part, Olivia chose to indulge in these
harmless fancies. She had always enjoyed making up stories about her
neighbours, and it did no one any harm.
When Mr. Gaythorne was out of sight she went to the kitchen to take a
last look at Dot, who was slumbering peacefully in her cot; the kitchen
was the warmest place, and Martha could clean her knives and wash
her plates and keep an eye on her.
Martha gave her usual broad grin when her mistress entered; the little
handmaid adored her master and mistress and Dot. During her rare
holiday she always entertained her mother and brothers and sisters with
wonderful descriptions of her mistress's cleverness and Miss Baby's
ways.
Martha had eleven brothers and sisters, and the house in Somers Row
was not a luxurious abode. Her mother took in washing, and eleven
brothers and sisters of all ages, and of every variety of snub-nose, made
any sort of privacy impossible. Nevertheless, on her previous holiday,
as Martha, or Patty, as they called her at home, sat in her best blue
merino frock, with her youngest sister on her lap and a paper-bag of
sugar-sticks for distribution to the family, there were few happier girls
to be found anywhere.
"And I have brought you half-a-pound of really good tea, mother,"
observed Martha, proudly. "I knew what a treat that would be to you
and father."
"You are a good girl, Patty," returned her mother, winking away the
moisture in her eyes, as she went on with her ironing. "Amabel, don't
you be trampling on Patty's best dress, there's a good little lass. Well, as
I was saying, Patty, only the children do interrupt so. There, Joe and
Ben, just take your sugar-sticks and be off to play. I think I have found
a nice little place for Susan. She is to sleep at home, but will have all