Page 571 - sons-and-lovers

her little black costume, sitting waiting likewise. The doc-
tor was late. The women all looked rather frightened. Paul
asked the nurse in attendance if he could see the doctor im-
mediately he came. It was arranged so. The women sitting
patiently round the walls of the room eyed the young man
curiously.
At last the doctor came. He was about forty, good-look-
ing, brown-skinned. His wife had died, and he, who had
loved her, had specialised on women’s ailments. Paul told
his name and his mother’s. The doctor did not remember.
‘Number forty-six M.,’ said the nurse; and the doctor
looked up the case in his book.
‘There is a big lump that may be a tumour,’ said Paul. ‘But
Dr. Ansell was going to write you a letter.’
‘Ah, yes!’ replied the doctor, drawing the letter from his
pocket. He was very friendly, affable, busy, kind. He would
come to Sheffield the next day.
‘What is your father?’ he asked.
‘He is a coal-miner,’ replied Paul.
‘Not very well off, I suppose?’
‘This—I see after this,’ said Paul.
‘And you?’ smiled the doctor.
‘I am a clerk in Jordan’s Appliance Factory.’
The doctor smiled at him.
‘Er—to go to Sheffield!’ he said, putting the tips of his
fingers together, and smiling with his eyes. ‘Eight guineas?’
‘Thank you!’ said Paul, flushing and rising. ‘And you’ll
come to-morrow?’
‘To-morrow—Sunday? Yes! Can you tell me about what

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