Publisher's Synopsis
In the year 1860, the reputation of Doctor Wybrow as a London physician reached its highestpoint. It was reported on good authority that he was in receipt of one of the largest incomes derivedfrom the practice of medicine in modern times.One afternoon, towards the close of the London season, the Doctor had just taken his luncheonafter a specially hard morning's work in his consulting-room, and with a formidable list of visits topatients at their own houses to fill up the rest of his day-when the servant announced that a ladywished to speak to him.'Who is she?' the Doctor asked. 'A stranger?''Yes, sir.''I see no strangers out of consulting-hours. Tell her what the hours are, and send her away.''I have told her, sir.''Well?''And she won't go.''Won't go?' The Doctor smiled as he repeated the words. He was a humourist in his way; andthere was an absurd side to the situation which rather amused him. 'Has this obstinate lady givenyou her name?' he inquired.'No, sir. She refused to give any name-she said she wouldn't keep you five minutes, and thematter was too important to wait till to-morrow. There she is in the consulting-room; and how toget her out again is more than I know.'Doctor Wybrow considered for a moment. His knowledge of women (professionally speaking)rested on the ripe experience of more than thirty years; he had met with them in all their varieties-especially the variety which knows nothing of the value of time, and never hesitates at shelteringitself behind the privileges of its sex. A glance at his watch informed him that he must soon beginhis rounds among the patients who were waiting for him at their own houses. He decided forthwithon taking the only wise course that was open under the circumstances. In other words, he decidedon taking to flight.
