The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. Loved his memory still, for all he knew. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. What she said is true. ‘What now?’ ‘Now,’ she answered flatly, ‘you will please to tell me at once why you have come here.
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