"No, Lady Dorothy; they're all at school. This is no one belonging to the family—a stranger who was taken mysteriously ill last night just outside the forge, and they brought him in. It's a most queer case, and very difficult to diagnose—that is to say, to give a diagnosis in keeping with one's professional—er—conscience."
The girl switched off the engine, and took her hand from the brake-lever. Something in the doctor's manner arrested her interest.
"What is the matter with him?" she queried. "What diagnosis have you made, professional or otherwise?"
"Shock, Lady Dorothy; severe exhaustion and shock, heart strained, superficial lesions, bruises, scratches, and so forth. Mentally he is in a great state of excitement and terror, lapsing into delirium at times—that is really the most serious feature. In fact, unless I can calm him I am afraid we may have some brain trouble on top of the other thing. It's most mysterious!"
The girl nodded gravely, holding her underlip between her white teeth.
"What does he look like—in appearance, I mean? Is he young?"
The shadow of a smile crossed the doctor's eyes.
"Yes, Lady Dorothy—quite young, and very good-looking. He is a man of remarkable athletic build. He is calmer now, and I have left Matthew's wife with him while I slip out to see a couple of other patients."
Lady Dorothy rose from her seat and stepped down out of the car.
"I think I know your patient," she said. "In fact, I had taken the car to look for him, to ask him to lunch with us. Do you think I might see him for a minute? If it is the person I think it is I may be able to help you diagnose his illness."