Description:

The young doctor stamped vehemently up the marble steps, to warm his feet, and once in the warm, flower-scented halls, let a little shiver escape him. The butler was new-he was always new, the doctor thought-and actually didn't know him.
"Mrs. Allen is at bridge, sir, with a party: she asks to be excused," he began mechanically.
("That's good!" Stanchon felt tempted to say, "and I hope the girls are out, too!") As if in answer to this indiscretion, the new butler droned on:
"Miss Alida is at her riding-lesson and Miss Suzanne is-is engaged--"
("Now, what particular infernal idiocy is Suzanne at, I wonder?" Stanchon pondered, still smiling lightly at the butler and warming himself at every breath.)
"Mr. Edmund is-I think he could be found, sir," the voice went on.
("I don't doubt it," Stanchon agreed mentally, "at the side board, no doubt; a nice time of day for a lad of twenty to be hanging about the house!")
But all he said was:
"I am the doctor. I called to see Miss Mary."
"Oh!" Even this new butler assumed a look of burdened intelligence; he leaned toward the visitor, "Oh, yes, sir-Miss Mary. I understood that it wouldn't be possible for Miss Mary to see anybody, sir, but I suppose, the doctor--"
"Certainly," said Stanchon curtly. "Please send word to her nurse that I am here."
"Yes, sir," but the man hesitated, even as he took the hat held out to him, "yes, sir, but-but ... it isn't Dr. Jarvyse, is it, sir?"