"The time has come at last," said the doctor that evening, when the two
men were alone, "for this woman to go. The man is getting well rapidly,
he no longer wants a nurse; there is no reason for keeping her. If she
has suspicions there is no longer the least foundation for them; she
has assisted at the healing of a man desperately sick by a skilful
physician. What more? Nothing--positively nothing."
"Can she tell my wife so much and no more?" asked Lord Harry. "Will
there be no more?"
"She can tell her ladyship no more, because she will have no more to
tell," the doctor replied quietly. "She would like to learn more; she
is horribly disappointed that there is no more to tell; but she shall
hear no more. She hates me: but she hates your lordship more."
"Why?"
"Because her mistress loves you still. Such a woman as this would like
to absorb the whole affection of her mistress in herself. You laugh.
She is a servant, and a common person. How can such a person conceive
an affection so strong as to become a passion for one so superior? But
it is true. It is perfectly well known, and there have been many
recorded instances of such a woman, say a servant, greatly inferior in
station, conceiving a desperate affection for her mistress, accompanied
by the fiercest jealousy. Fanny Mere is jealous--and of you. She hates
you; she wants your wife to hate you. She would like nothing better
than to go back to her mistress with the proofs in her hand of such
acts on your part--such acts, I say," he chose his next words
carefully, "as would keep her from you for ever."
"She's a devil, I dare say," said Lord Harry, carelessly. "What do I
care? What does it matter to me whether a lady's maid, more or less,
hates me or loves me?"
"There spoke the aristocrat. My lord, remember that a lady's maid is a
woman. You have been brought up to believe, perhaps, that people in
service are not men and women. That is a mistake--a great mistake.
Fanny Mere is a woman--that is to say, an inferior form of man; and
there is no man in the world so low or so base as not to be able to do
mischief. The power of mischief is given to every one of us. It is the
true, the only Equality of Man--we can all destroy. What? a shot in the
dark; the striking of a lucifer match; the false accusation; the false
witness; the defamation of character;--upon my word, it is far more
dangerous to be hated by a woman than by a man. And this excellent and
faithful Fanny, devoted to her mistress, hates you, my lord, even
more"--he paused and laughed--"even more than the charming Mrs. Vimpany
hates her husband. Never mind. To-morrow we see the last of Fanny Mere.
She goes; she leaves her patient rapidly recovering. That is the fact
that she carries away--not the fact she hoped and expected to carry
away. She goes to-morrow and she will never come back again."