as a young man from the West
Indies, who had come into something considerable. But he was afflicted
with a disorder he called the "jumps," and the doctor's diagnosis, if
correct, showed that the _vera causa_ of this aptly-named disease was
alcohol of sp. gr. something, to which the patient was in the habit
of adding very few atoms of water indeed. The doctor was doing all he
could to change the regimen, but only succeeded on making his patient
weak and promise amendment. On this particular evening the latter
quite unexpectedly went for the doctor's throat, shouting, "I see your
plans!" and King had to be summoned from his box to help restrain him.
So Dr. Vereker was tired when he got home late to dinner, and would
have felt miserable, only he could always shut his eyes and think of
Sally's hands that had come over his shoulder to discriminate points
in Mrs. Shoosmith's magna-charta. They had come so near him that he
could smell the fresh sweet dressing of the new kid gloves--six and
a half, we believe.

But although he liked his Goody mother to talk to him about the girl
who had christened her so, he was tired enough this evening to wish
that her talk had flowed in a less pebbly channel. For she chose this
opportunity to enlarge upon the duties of young married women towards
their husbands' parents, their mothers especially. Her conclusion was
a little unexpected:

"I have said nothing throughout, my dear. I should not dream of doing
so. But if I had I trust I should have made it clearly understood how
I regarded Miss Laetitia Wilson's conduct."

"But there wasn't any. Nobody contracted a private marriage."

"My dear Conrad! Have I said that any one has done so? Have I used
the expression 'private marriage'?"

"Why--no. I don't think you have. Not to-day, at least."

"When have I done so? Have I not, on the contrary, from the very
beginning told you I should take the first opportunity of disbelieving
so absurd and mischievous a story? And have I lost a moment? Was it
not the first word I said to Sally Nightingale before you came in, and
without a soul in the room to hear? I only ask for justice. But if my
son misrepresents me, what can I expect from others?" At this point
patient toleration only.

"But, mother dear, I don't _want_ to misrepresent you. Only I'll be
hanged if I see why Tishy Wilson is to be hauled over the coals?"

A suggestion of a proper spirit showed itself. "I am accustomed to
your language,