Doctor's Orders by Eleanor Farnes

and watching the life of the town going on before her. She enjoyed this very much, and wished she had arranged to meet Anthea a little earlier, so that Anthea could be with her. She was probably wandering, bored and lonely, through the streets, thought Diana, quite unable to see the real picture of Anthea at that moment, an Anthea sparkling and gay, tossing her fine hair about her shoulders, laughing and talking in an animated fashion that Diana had rarely witnessed.
    At the appointed time, Diana presented herself at Dr. Frederic’s house. The maid told her that Miss Wellis had not yet arrived, and showed her into the usual waiting room. The secretary arrived smiling and courteous as always, and said that Dr. Frederic would not be a moment. He had a patient with him, but would be free almost at once.
    “Miss Wellis has not yet arrived,” said Diana. “I arranged to meet her here.”
    She hoped that Anthea would not be late and keep the doctor waiting, but the doctor was free before she arrived and came himself to greet Diana.
    “I am so sorry Anthea is not here yet,” said Diana. “We separated to do our shopping, and arranged to meet here.”
    “We will forgive her,” said the doctor, “knowing how tempting the shops in this town can be. In any case, she is my last appointment here for this afternoon.”
    They waited, and as the minutes passed, Diana began to be uneasy, and to be a little annoyed with Anthea for being so careless. She explained to Dr. Frederic that she had been so anxious to buy the book of songs, and Anthea would not have been interested, so they had separated. “But really,” she added, “it would have been safer to stay with her all the time.”
    "What songs were you looking for?” he asked her, and she brought out the book and showed him.
    “Unfortunately, nearly all are in dialect,” she said, “but I shall understand some of it. Now I am anxious to get to a piano and try them.”
    “You can do that here,” he said. “On my piano.”
    She hastily disclaimed that she was as anxious as that.
    “But why not here?” he said, and rose to his feet. “My secretary will tell us as soon as Anthea gets here. In the meantime, you can amuse yourself; and I sha ll listen to you.”
    He led her to a satisfyingly beautiful drawing room, with a grand piano against one wall. Everything about it was so exactly right that Diana thought she had never been in so perfect a room. It was gracious and elegant, yet comfortable and welcoming. They crossed to the piano, and Diana, instead of opening it, began to turn over the music that was already on the top of it.
    “Is this your music?” she asked him.
    “Yes.”
    “You play all this?”
    “But yes.”
    “Then you are much too good for me, and I should be embarrassed at playing in front of you ... You like Bach?” For most of the music she had seen was Bach’s music.
    “Yes,” he said. “I like Bach. Or shall I say I am a passionate admirer of Bach.”
    She looked at him hesitantly.
    “As we have to wait for Anthea,” she said, “would you like to play—just a little?”
    “Certainly,” he said, “if you are too shy yourself. I find my refreshment in Bach. The harmonies, the counterpoint, the intricate and amazing convolutions ... but perhaps you play them yourself?”
    “No, I am not good enough. I try sometimes, and am impatient with my fumbling. But I like to listen.”
    So he sat down and played, and apparently forgot all about Diana, because he did not refer to her or ask her what she liked but went on and on, drawing his own refreshment, and giving her a tremendous amount of pleasure. She even forgot to wonder where on earth Anthea had got to, and when he paused at last, she said:
    “Do please play the twenty-first prelude.”
    “Alla Toccata?” he asked, and the minute of brilliance flashed past her and was gone. Then he closed the piano and stood up.
    “What has happened to our young friend?” he asked.
    “I’m so sorry