feeling of irritation in his mind, which he instantly
endeavoured to suppress--it was no use getting cross with a
man of whom you were about to rid yourself, he said to
himself. And for the moment, after replying to his
assistant's greeting--a greeting as quiet as his entrance--he
went on reading his letters, and Bryce turned off to that part
of the surgery in which the drugs were kept, and busied
himself in making up some prescription. Ten minutes went by
in silence; then Ransford pushed his correspondence aside,
laid a paper-weight on it, and twisting his chair round,
looked at the man to whom he was going to say some unpleasant
things. Within himself he was revolving a question--how would
Bryce take it?

He had never liked this assistant of his, although he had then
had him in employment for nearly two years. There was
something about Pemberton Bryce which he did not understand
and could not fathom. He had come to him with excellent
testimonials and good recommendations; he was well up to his
work, successful with patients, thoroughly capable as a
general practitioner--there was no fault to be found with him
on any professional grounds. But to Ransford his personality
was objectionable--why, he was not quite sure. Outwardly,
Bryce was rather more than presentable--a tall, good-looking
man of twenty-eight or thirty, whom some people--women
especially--would call handsome; he was the sort of young man
who knows the value of good clothes and a smart appearance,
and his professional manner was all that could be desired.
But Ransford could not help distinguishing between Bryce the
doctor and Bryce the man--and Bryce the man he did not like.