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Page 9
"I have nothing to do with what you see," answered Bryce.
"Your opinions are not mine, and mine aren't yours. You're
really turning me away--as if I were a dishonest foreman!
--because in my opinion it would be a very excellent thing for
her and for myself if Miss Bewery would consent to marry me.
That's the plain truth."
Ransford allowed himself to take a long and steady look at
Bryce. The thing was done now, and his dismissed assistant
seemed to be taking it quietly--and Ransford's curiosity was
aroused.
"I can't make you out!" he exclaimed. "I don't know whether
you're the most cynical young man I ever met, or whether
you're the most obtuse--"
"Not the last, anyway," interrupted Bryce. "I assure you of
that!"
"Can't you see for yourself, then, man, that the girl doesn't
want you!" said Ransford. "Hang it!--for anything you know to
the contrary, she may have--might have--other ideas!"
Bryce, who had been staring out of a side window for the last
minute or two, suddenly laughed, and, lifting a hand, pointed
into the garden. And Ransford turned--and saw Mary Bewery
walking there with a tall lad, whom he recognized as one
Sackville Bonham, stepson of Mr. Folliot, a wealthy resident
of the Close. The two young people were laughing and chatting
together with evident great friendliness.
"Perhaps," remarked Bryce quietly, "her ideas run in--that
direction? In which case, Dr. Ransford, you'll have trouble.
For Mrs. Folliot, mother of yonder callow youth, who's the
apple of her eye, is one of the inquisitive ladies of whom
I've just told you, and if her son unites himself with
anybody, she'll want to know exactly who that anybody is.
You'd far better have supported me as an aspirant! However
--I suppose there's no more to say."
"Nothing!" answered Ransford. "Except to say good-day--and
good-bye to you. You needn't remain--I'll see to everything.
And I'm going out now. I think you'd better not exchange any
farewells with any one."
Bryce nodded silently, and Ransford, picking up his hat and
gloves, left the surgery by the side door. A moment later,
Bryce saw him crossing the Close.
CHAPTER III
ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR
The summarily dismissed assistant, thus left alone, stood
for a moment in evident deep thought before he moved
towards Ransford's desk and picked up the cheque. He
looked at it carefully, folded it neatly, and put it away
in his pocket-book; after that he proceeded to collect a
few possessions of his own, instruments, books from various
drawers and shelves. He was placing these things in a small
hand-bag when a gentle tap sounded on the door by which
patients approached the surgery.
"Come in!" he called.
There was no response, although the door was slightly ajar;
instead, the knock was repeated, and at that Bryce crossed the
room and flung the door open.
A man stood outside--an elderly, slight-figured, quiet-looking
man, who looked at Bryce with a half-deprecating, half-nervous
air; the air of a man who was shy in manner and evidently
fearful of seeming to intrude. Bryce's quick, observant eyes
took him in at a glance, noting a much worn and lined face,
thin grey hair and tired eyes; this was a man, he said to
himself, who had seen trouble. Nevertheless, not a poor man,
if his general appearance was anything to go by--he was well
and even expensively dressed, in the style generally affected
by well-to-do merchants and city men; his clothes were
fashionably cut, his silk hat was new, his linen and boots
irreproachable; a fine diamond pin gleamed in his carefully
arranged cravat. Why, then, this unmistakably furtive and
half-frightened manner--which seemed to be somewhat relieved
at the sight of Bryce?
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