"Which of us two has had a medical
education--you, or I?"
"You, of course."
"Yes; I, of course. Then I tell you, as a medical man, that appearances
are sometimes deceptive. This man, for instance--he looks better; he
thinks he is recovering; he feels stronger. You observe that he is
fatter in the face. His nurse, Fanny Mere, went away with the knowledge
that he was much better, and the conviction that he was about to leave
the house as much recovered as such a patient with such a disorder can
expect."
"Well?"
"Well, my lord, allow me to confide in you. Medical men mostly keep
their knowledge in such matters to themselves. We know and recognise
symptoms which to you are invisible. By these symptoms--by those
symptoms," he repeated slowly and looking hard at the other man, "I
know that this man--no longer Oxbye, my patient, but--another--is in a
highly dangerous condition. I have noted the symptoms in my book"--he
tapped his pocket--"for future use."
"And when--when----" Lord Harry was frightfully pale. His lips moved,
but he could not finish the sentence. The Thing he had agreed to was
terribly near, and it looked uglier than he had expected.
"Oh! when?" the doctor replied carelessly.
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