"I will take care," I answered, with dignity, "that she does not see people." "Excuse me--she is seeing people now." "I suppose you are not aware," I said, very quietly, "that I am your patient's mother? It seems to be taken for granted in this house that such a person does not exist." "I am aware of it," he was good enough to admit; "I recognise the fact, Mrs. Braye, and sympathise with your feelings, believe me. But, if you will allow me to say so, you are so excitable--you have such a quick, nervous temperament----" "And who has dared to discuss my temperament with you?" I demanded furiously--for this was the last straw--an utter stranger, a boy young enough to have been my son! "Where is Dr. Juke? I will ask _him_ to explain. Mrs. Juke"--she was lurking in the passage outside--"will you be kind enough to send Edmund to me? After all, he is the medical authority here." Edmund came hurrying up, and I never saw a man look so much like a whipped dog. He had not the courage of a mouse in the presence of his colleague. He spread out his hands with a helpless air--said we were all under Errington's orders, and that he no longer had a say in anything--in short, left me undefended to be a laughing-stock to those people. I flew downstairs to find Tom, whom I had left in a little office behind the consulting-room, waiting until I summoned him to see the baby. I knew what he would think of the way I was being treated, and how he would vindicate and uphold me. But here I was again frustrated. The aroma of his strong tobacco was in the air; the ashes from his pipe were still hot in the tray; but he had vanished. Rushing back into the hall, I collided with that pert little parlourmaid who answers the door. She had come to tell me, she said, with an ill-disguised smirk, that Captain Braye had gone to do some business in the town and would return in the course of an hour or two. She must have seen that something was the matter, but she was just as callous as the rest of them. I said "Very well," as cheerfully as I could, and sought the only refuge I knew of--the drawing-room on the first floor. It was dark with drawn blinds and the tree ferns on the balcony, but not so dark that I could not see the thick dust on everything; and there were flowers in the vases that literally stank with decay and the bad water their stalks were rotting in. Feeling sure that I was safe in this deserted and neglected place, I closed the door behind me, sank upon a sofa, took out my pocket-handkerchief, and had a good cry. Any mother, hurt to the heart as I had been, would have done the same.