“Thank you, I do not imagine that she needs any special treatment. She thought that complete rest would do as much for her as anything,” the invalid returned, a little gleam of amusement in her dark eyes, as she observed the grave interest that the young physician manifested in her daughter. He had confidently expected to meet Miss Rochester, and had looked forward to the frank, pleasant greeting which he felt sure he should receive from her. But Mrs. Rochester had no intention of allowing him to go away moping, and adroitly started a conversation that kept him chatting for some time by her bedside. She was a fluent and intelligent talker and a woman who always made the most of her opportunities, especially when she had any particular object in view. She referred, in a casual and delicate way, to what she termed the foolish whim of his uncle and her husband; seemed to assume that it was perfectly natural that two young people should revolt against any such unnatural arrangement, and did not once hint at any personal regret for the pecuniary loss which the non-conformance to the contract would entail upon herself or her daughter. She touched upon his peculiar sorrow in a feeling way, mentioned some of the particulars regarding her husband’s death, and then passed, easily and gracefully, to more cheerful topics. She was altogether so genial and entertaining that she seemed less a stranger than an old friend when the young doctor finally rose to go. Mrs. Rochester laughingly remarked, as he shook hands with her, that if he did not think she needed professional attendance every day he must intersperse such visits with social calls, for she found it very refreshing to meet one so recently from America, notwithstanding they were comparative strangers. He did not see Miss Rochester the next time he came, nor even the next, and he grew quite impatient and half-suspicious of the “wrench” which confined her to her own room. But when he made his fourth visit he found her sitting in their pretty parlor, and Mrs. Rochester with her. Both ladies looked a trifle pale, but exceedingly interesting in their simple but elegant morning robes. Both greeted him cordially, and after he had given his attention for a few moments to his patient he made some inquiry of the younger lady regarding her own mishap. “It was not much,” she carelessly replied, a slight tinge of color suffusing her face; “just a little strain, perhaps, caused by the overturning of the carriage.” Then she began to talk of something else, and an hour passed in delightful conversation, before Dr. Winthrop realized that he was making an exceedingly unprofessional call. The few days during which Dr. Winthrop had consented to remain in Paris lengthened into a fortnight before it occurred to him that he was no longer really needed by his patient—that any one else, with even ordinary skill, could now attend to the injured arm as well as he.