"Oh, there's nothing of that kind," she answered emphatically, and rose to take off her hat and prepare supper.
Since her illness of a year ago, when she had summoned the strange young doctor who had once been the assistant of the Fowlers' family physician, she had grown to feel a certain dependence upon Dr.French as the only useful friend who was left to her.

He was a thin, gray-eyed, fair-haired young man, who practised largely among the poor, from choice rather than from necessity, since Dr.Morton had given him an excellent start in life.

His pale, ascetic face had attracted Gabriella from their first meeting; there was the flamelike enthusiasm of the visionary in his eyes; and he had, she thought, the most beautiful and sympathetic hands she had ever seen.

Even Fanny, who was usually impervious to sensitive impressions, felt the charm of his touch when he stroked her forehead or placed his long, delicate fingers on her wrist.

From that first visit he had been a source of comfort and strength to Gabriella; but of late she had felt moments of uneasiness when she was with him.