Grace had looked at the handkerchief. "Very well," she said, with
coldness. "I shall not stand in your way of calling another physician.
But if it will console you, I can tell you that the blood on your
handkerchief means nothing worth speaking of. Whom shall I send for?" she
asked, turning to go out of the roam. "I wish to be your friend still,
and I will do anything I can to help you."

"Oh, Grace Breen! Is that the way you talk to me?" whimpered Mrs.
Maynard. "You know that I don't mean to give you up. I'm not a stone; I
have some feeling. I did n't intend to dismiss you, but I thought perhaps
you would like to have a consultation about it. I should think it was
time to have a consultation, should n't you? Of course, I'm not alarmed,
but I know it's getting serious, and I'm afraid that your medicine is n't
active enough. That's it; it's perfectly good medicine, but it is n't
active. They've all been saying that I ought to have something active.
Why not try the whiskey with the white-pine chips in it? I'm sure it's
indicated." In her long course of medication she had picked up certain
professional phrases, which she used with amusing seriousness. "It would
be active, at any rate."

Grace did not reply. As she stood smoothing the head of the little girl,
who had followed her to the door, and now leaned against her, hiding her
tearful face in Grace's dress, she said, "I don't know of any
homoeopathic physician in this neighborhood. I don't believe there's one
nearer than Boston, and I should make myself ridiculous in calling one so
far for a consultation. But I'm quite willing you should call one, and I
will send for you at once."

"And wouldn't you consult with him, after he came?"