Doctor Luttrells First Patient | Page 8

dragging in of her husband's
name seems to me such bad taste."
"Upon my word, Isabella, I cannot say that I agree with you." And the
Vicar straightened himself on the rug in his favourite attitude. He was a
heavy, ponderous man, with an expression of shrewd good sense on his
face that won people's confidence. "I wish other women were as
faithful to their husband's memory, that flighty little Mrs. Martin, for
example."
"My dear Stephen, what an absurd idea! Fancy talking of Lydia Martin,
every one knows she is making a dead set at Mr. Germaine, although

poor Jack Martin has hardly been dead a year. She is Mrs. Broderick's
exact opposite. Please do not misunderstand me in this tiresome way,"
and here Mrs. Tolman frowned slightly. "It is the manner in which Mrs.
Broderick speaks of her husband that offends my tastes. In my
opinion"--compressing her lips as she spoke--"our departed dear ones
are sacred, and should not be mentioned in a secular manner."
At the word "secular" there was a twinkle in the Vicar's eyes, though he
held his peace. And to tell the truth, Mrs. Tolman had been unable to
find the expression she needed.
"But with Mrs. Broderick it is 'Fergus here' and 'Fergus there,' just as
though he were alive and in the next room, and she was expecting him
in every moment. Sometimes in the twilight it makes me quite creepy
to hear her speaking in that sprightly voice, just as though she were
making believe that he heard her."
"Poor soul!" was the Vicar's answer to this; but he was used to keeping
his thoughts to himself--he and Mrs. Broderick understood each other
perfectly. She had not a firmer friend in the world, unless it was her
kind physician, Dr. Randolph. "Poor soul!" he repeated when his wife
in silent dudgeon had retired from the room.
"It is not likely that Isabella would understand her; Mrs. Broderick is
the bravest and the brightest woman I know, and yet the furnace was
heated sevenfold for her. Make believe that he is alive! Why, he has
never been dead to her! It is her vivid faith and her vivid imagination
that has helped her to live all these years instead of lying there a
crushed wreck for people to patronise and pity."
And here again there was a wicked little twinkle in the Vicar's eyes.
Did he not know his Isabella, and how good she was to those who
would allow her to advise and lecture them.
"Mrs. Broderick has just laughed and put her foot down, that is why
Isabella is always complaining of her. They have not exactly hit it off."
And here the Vicar laughed softly as he sat down to consider his
sermon.

"Aunt Madge, how cosy you look!" exclaimed Olivia, as she stood on
the threshold of the warm firelit room; and then a swift transition of
thought carried her back to the dismal little dining-room at Galvaston
Terrace, with its black smouldering fire, and the damp clinging to the
window-panes, and an involuntary shiver crossed her as she knelt down
beside her aunt's couch.
"My dear Livy, you are a perfect iceberg!" exclaimed Mrs. Broderick.
"No, you shall not kiss me again until you are warmer. Sit down in that
easy-chair close to the fire where I can see you, and take that
handscreen for the good of your complexion.--Now, Deb, bring the
tea-things, like a good soul, for Mrs. Luttrell has made a poor dinner."
"How could you guess that, Aunt Madge? Are you a witch or a
magician?" asked Olivia, in her astonished voice. It was pure
guess-work on Mrs. Broderick's part, but as usual her keen wits had
grazed the truth.
Olivia, who had a healthy girlish appetite, had risen from the midday
meal almost as hungry as when she had sat down. The dish of hashed
mutton had been small, and if Olivia had eaten her share, Martha would
have fared badly. A convenient flower-pot, a gift from Aunt Madge,
had prevented Marcus from seeing his wife's plate. Olivia, who had
dined off potatoes and gravy, was already faint from exhaustion. As
usual, she confessed the truth.
"It was my fault, Aunt Madge," she said, basking like a blissful
salamander in the warm glow. "I ought to have known the meat would
not go round properly; but happily Marcus did not notice, or else there
would have been a fuss. He and Martha dined properly, and I mean to
enjoy my tea."
But Mrs. Broderick's only answer was to ring her handbell.
"Deb, boil two of those nice new-laid eggs that Mrs. Broughton sent me.
Mrs. Luttrell has had no dinner; if the scones are ready we will have tea
at once." And as Deborah