While my father remains¹ in his present helpless condition, somebody must assume a position of command in this house. There cannot be a moment’s doubt that I am the person to do it.

In my agitated² state of mind, sometimes doubtful of Philip, sometimes hopeful of him, I find Mrs. Tenbruggen simply unendurable. A female doctor is, under any circumstances, a creature whom I detest³. She is, at her very best, a bad imitation of a man. The Medical Rubber is worse than this; she is a bad imitation of a mountebank⁴. Her grinning good-humor, adopted no doubt to please the fools who are her patients, and her impudent⁵ enjoyment⁶ of hearing herself talk, make me regret for the first time in my life that I am a young lady. If I belonged to the lowest order of the population, I might take the first stick I could find, and enjoy the luxury of giving Mrs. Tenbruggen a good beating.

She literally⁷ haunts the house, encouraged, of course, by her wretched little dupe, Miss Jillgall. Only this morning, I tried what a broad hint would do toward suggesting that her visits had better come to an end.

“Really, Mrs. Tenbruggen,” I said, “I must request Miss Jillgall to moderate her selfish enjoyment of your company, for your own sake. Your time is too valuable, in a professional sense, to be wasted on an idle woman who has no sympathy with your patients, waiting for relief perhaps, and waiting in vain.”

She listened to this, all smiles and good-humor: “My dear, do you know how I might answer you, if I was an ill-natured woman?”

“I have no curiosity to hear it, Mrs. Tenbruggen.”

“I might ask you,” she persisted, “to allow me to mind my own business. But I am incapable⁹ of making an ungrateful return for the interest which you take in my medical welfare. Let me venture to ask if you understand the value of time.”

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