"My husband has been taken very ill this evening, Dr. d'Escombe," she said, after thanking me for coming at that hour. "I would be so very grateful if you would see him."
I bowed and expressed readiness to do all in my power. Then, after a few minutes' conversation, she told me that her name was Auberon, and that they had come into the neighbourhood quite recently.
As our eyes met I noted that she was extremely handsome. I also knew instinctively that she was endeavouring to make an impression upon me.
Why is it. Brown, that women are so fond of flirting with their doctor? Ah! How many times has a pale, pinched face lying upon a pillow "made eyes" at me; how many times has a convalescent patient, sitting by her fire, put out a tiny foot and shapely ankle for my admiration. And how many times, too, has a woman sniggered provocatively when I have held my stethoscope upon her bared breast.
But enough! You know me sufficiently well to be aware that I am only a ladies'-man when I have a distinct purpose in view. The medical man who allows himself to fall beneath the blandishments of his patients of the
