Mrs.Moon was a small woman shrunk with her eighty years, shrunk almost to extinction in her black woollen gown and black woollen mittens.

Her very face seemed to be vanishing under the immense shadow of her black net cap.

Spirals of thin grey hair stuck flat to her forehead; she wore other and similar spirals enclosed behind glass in an enormous brooch; it was the hair of her ancestors, that is to say of the Quinceys.

As the Old Lady looked at Cautley her little black eyes burned like pinpoints pierced in a paste-board mask.
"I think you've been brought here on a wild goose chase, doctor," said she, "there is nothing the matter with my niece." He replied (battling sternly with his desire to laugh) that he would be delighted if it were so; adding that a wild goose chase was the sport he preferred to any other.
Here he looked at Miss Vivian to the imminent peril of his self-control.
Mrs.Moon's gaze had embraced them in a common condemnation, and the subtle sympathy of their youth linked them closer and made them one in their intimate appreciation of her.
"Then you must be a very singular young man.

I thought you doctors were never happy until you'd found some mare's nest in people's constitutions?
You'd much better let well alone." "Miss Quincey is very far from well," said Cautley with recovered gravity, "and I rather fancy she has been let alone too long." Cautley thought that he had said quite enough to alarm any old lady.