rather finicking figure

“Thanks, Symons, you can go.”

The servant’s ill-conditioned stare was bitterness to a woman of Betty’s pride and penetration. The finer touches of courtesy, the more delicate instincts, are rarely developed in the lower classes. Even the starched Symons was utterly cowlike in her manners. Betty felt her face sore under the servant’s eyes.

A big red book lay open upon the dressing-table amid Betty Steel’s crowd of silver knick-knacks. It was the Medical Directory, and lay open at the London list, and at the letter P. Dr. Peterson’s name headed the left-hand page, as staff-physician to sundry hospitals and charitable institutions, and as a holder of medals, diplomas, and degrees galore. A cursory glance at the titles of his contributions to medical literature would have marked him out as one of the leading authorities on diseases of the skin.

Betty Steel looked in her pier-glass, fluffed out her hair a little, and fastening the scarf of her green tea-gown, crossed the landing towards the stairs. She had that steady and almost staring expression of the eyes that betrays a purpose suddenly but seriously matured. She had not spoken with her husband since their meeting  [url=http://blog.cnyes.com/My/beetty/article2347995][color=#333333]with her, [/color][/url][url=http://www.dk101.com/?uid-741291-action-viewspace-itemid-478935][color=#333333]he would [/color][/url][url=http://blog.dwnews.com/post-924719.html][color=#333333]sanction [/color][/url]
[url=http://blogs.elle.com.hk/lindayax/2016/11/30/kdsfkj/][color=#333333]everything[/color][/url][url=http://blog.goo.ne.jp/doodley/e/cd861e4654a9e008ed53b6fee03f64f5][color=#333333] at once[/color][/url][url=http://pinkeyik.hatenablog.com/entry/2016/11/30/113807][color=#333333]he answered.[/color][/url]
on the night of his return.

“Dr. Peterson, I believe?”

The specialist had been reviewing the photographs on the mantel-piece, and had displayed his good taste by electing a handsome cousin of Betty’s as his ideal for the moment. He set the silver frame down rather hurriedly, and turned at the sound of the door opening, a dapper, diplomatic, yet, the figure more of a little man about town than of a brilliant and prosperous London consultant.

“Mrs. Steel—?”

He had glanced up with a slight puckering of the brows into Betty’s face.

“Yes. I am sorry my husband is out. I have taken the opportunity, Dr. Peterson, of consulting you—”