Surely pride must be a dweller in a body so expressive of race!

He thought of the very young men, almost boys, with whom Mrs. Chepstow
was seen about. Was it possible?

Her eyes met his, and in her face he saw a subtle contradiction of the
meaning her form seemed eloquently to indicate.

It was possible.

Almost before he had time to say this to himself, Mrs. Chepstow's face
had changed, suddenly accorded more definitely with her body.

"What a clever woman!" the Doctor thought.

With an almost sharp movement he sat forward in his chair, braced up,
alert, vital. His irritation was gone with the fatigue engendered by the
day's work. Interest in life tingled through his veins. His day was not
to be wholly dull. His thought of the morning, when he had looked at the
patients' book, was not an error of the mind.

"You came to consult me because--?"

"I don't know that I am ill," Mrs. Chepstow said, very composedly.

"Let us hope not."

"Do you think I look ill?"

"Would you mind turning a little more towards the light?"