hat's best for them, and the one thing they are never tired of doing
is talking about their symptoms. It was an old man's gabble that kept
me late to-day. However, the Squire, as they call him in these parts,
is a patient with a long purse; I am obliged to submit."

"A gentleman of the old school, dear Miss Henley," Mrs. Vimpany
explained. "Immensely rich. Is he better?" she asked, turning to her
husband.

"Better?" cried the outspoken doctor. "Pooh! there's nothing the matter
with him but gluttony. He went to London, and consulted a great man, a
humbug with a handle to his name. The famous physician got rid of him
in no time--sent him abroad to boil himself in foreign baths. He came
home again worse than ever, and consulted poor Me. I found him at
dinner--a perfect feast, I give you my word of honour!--and the old
fool gorging himself till he was black in the face. His wine, I should
have said, was not up to the mark; wanted body and flavour, you know.
Ah, Mr. Mountjoy, this seems to interest you; reminds you of the
landlady's wine--eh? Well, sir, how do you think I treated the Squire?
Emptied his infirm old inside with an emetic--and there he was on his
legs again. Whenever he overeats himself he sends for me; and pays
liberally. I ought to be grateful to him, and I am. Upon my soul, I
believe I should be in the bankruptcy court but for the Squire's
stomach. Look at my wife! She's shocked at me. We ought to keep up
appearances, my dear? Not I! When I am poor, I say I am poor. When I
cure a patient, I make no mystery of it; everybody's welcome to know
how it's done. Don't be down-hearted, Arabella; nature never meant your
husband for a doctor, and there's the long and the short of it. Another
glass of sherry, Mr. Mountjoy?"

All social ceremonies--including the curious English custom which sends
the ladies upstairs, after dinner, and leaves the gentlemen at the
table--found a devoted adherent in Mrs. Vimpany. She rose as if she had
been presiding at a banquet, and led Miss Henley affectionately to the
drawing-room. Iris glanced at Hugh. No; his mind was not at ease yet;
the preoccupied look had not left his face.

Jovial Mr. Vimpany pushed the bottle across the table to his guest, and
held out a handful of big black cigars.

"Now for the juice of the grape," he cried, "and the best cigar in all
England!"

He had just filled his glass, and struck a light for his cigar, when
the servant came in with a note. Some m