Читать книгу On the Brink of a Chasm: A record of plot and passion онлайн

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“Announce me, please,” said Tarbot.

He left his hat and overcoat in the hall, and a moment later was ushered into Mrs. Pelham’s presence. She was a little woman, with rosy cheeks and bright, dark eyes. She had the eager, affectionate manner of a person whose heart overbalances her mind.

“I am so glad to see you, doctor,” she cried. “Please sit down. Piers has had a very queer fainting fit this afternoon. I do not like the state he is in at all.”

“Has the nurse come?” asked Tarbot.

“She came yesterday. I don’t much like her, and I don’t think the child does either.”

“Oh, she is an excellent nurse,” said Tarbot, frowning; “one of the very best I have on my staff. I’ll go up and have a look at the child.”

Mrs. Pelham took the doctor up-stairs herself. The bedroom occupied by the small baronet was luxuriously furnished in the style best calculated to please a child.

Just beyond it was a dressing-room, but the little baronet slept, as well as played, in his nursery. He was sitting up in bed now, with flushed cheeks. He was a remarkably pretty boy, with soft black hair, eyes dark as night, and a velvety skin of the purest olive. The moment his mother appeared he called out to her in a high, ringing tone,—