"Mary, Mary!" she cried; "oh, my darling, what are
you thinking of? Francis! doctor! make her stop, make her stop."
"Why should she stop?" said Mrs. Turner, rising, too, in her agitation.
"Oh, is it a warning, is it a warning? for my child has seen it,--Connie
has seen it."
"Listen to me, all of you," said Mary, with an effort. "You all know--who
that is. And she has seen her,--the little girl--"
Now the others looked at each other, exchanging a startled look.
"My dear people," cried the doctor, "the case is not the least unusual.
No, no, Mrs. Turner, it is no warning,--it is nothing of the sort. Look
here, Bowyer; you'll believe me. The child is very nervous and sensitive.
She has evidently seen a picture somewhere of our dear old friend. She
has heard the story somehow,--oh, perhaps in some garbled version from
Prentiss, or--of course they've all been talking of it. And the child is
one of those creatures with its nerves all on the surface,--and a little
below par in health, in need of iron and quinine, and all that sort of
thing. I've seen a hundred such cases," cried the doctor, "--a thousand
such; but now, of course, we'll have a fine story made of it, now that
it's come into the ladies' hands."
He was much excited with this long speech; but it cannot be said that any
one paid much attention to him.
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