Part 9 (1/2)

”A female physician, child? There is no such thing. No; a.s.surance is becoming a characteristic of our s.e.x; but we have not yet intruded ourselves into the learned professions, thank Heaven.”

”Excuse me, mamma, there are one or two; for the newspapers say so.”

”'Well, dear, there are none in this country, happily.”

”'What, not in London?”

”No.”

”Then what _is_ the use of such a great overgrown place, all smoke, if there is nothing in it you cannot find in the country? Let us go back to Barkington this very day, this minute, this instant; oh, pray, pray.”

”And so you shall--to-morrow. But you must pity your poor mother's anxiety, and see Dr. Chalmers first.”

”Oh, mamma, not another surgeon! He frightened me; he hurt me. I never heard of such a thing; oh, please not another surgeon.”

”It is not a surgeon, dear; it is the Court Physician.”

The Court Physician detected ”a somewhat morbid condition of the great nervous centres.” To an inquiry whether there was heart-disease, he replied, ”Pooh!” On being told Sir William had announced heart-disease, he said, ”Ah! _that alters the case entirely._” He maintained, however, that it must be trifling, and would go no further, the nervous system once restored to its healthy tone. ”O Jupiter, aid us! Blue pill and Seidhitz powder.”

Dr. Kenyon found the mucous membrane was irritated and required soothing. ”O Jupiter, &c.”

Mrs. Dodd returned home consoled and confused; Julia listless and apathetic. Tea was ordered, with two or three kinds of bread, thinnest slices of meat, and a little blane mange, &c., their favourite repast after a journey; and whilst the tea was drawing, Mrs. Dodd looked over the card-tray and enumerated the visitors that had called during their absence. ”Dr. Short-- Mr. Osmond--Mrs. Hetherington--Mr. Alfred Hardie--Lady Dewry--Mrs. and Miss Bosanquet. What a pity Edward was not at home, dear; Mr. Alfred Hardie's visit must have been to him.”

”Oh, of course, mamma.”

”A very manly young gentleman.”

”'Oh, yes. No. He is so rude.”

”Is he? Ah! he was ill just then, and pain irritates gentlemen; they are not accustomed to it, poor Things.”

”That is like you, dear mamma; making excuses for one.” Julia added faintly, ”But he is so impetuous.”

”I have a daughter who reconciles me to impetuosity. And he _must_ have a good heart, he was so kind to my boy.”

Julia looked down smiling; but presently seemed to be seized with a spirit of contradiction: she began to pick poor Alfred to pieces; he was this, that, and the other; and then so bold, she might say impudent.

Mrs. Dodd replied calmly that he was very kind to her boy.

”Oh, mamma, you cannot approve all the words he spoke.”

”It is not worth while to remember all the words young gentlemen speak now-a-days. He was very kind to my boy, I remember that.”

The tea was now ready, and Mrs. Dodd sat down, and patted a chair, with a smile of invitation for Julia to come and sit beside her. But Julia said, ”In one minute, dear,” and left the room.

When she came back, she fluttered up to her mother and kissed her vehemently, then sat down radiant. ”Ah!” said Mrs. Dodd, ”why, you are looking yourself once more. How do you feel now? Better?”

”How do I feel? Let me see: The world seems one e-nor-mous flower-garden, and Me the b.u.t.terfly it all belongs to.” She spake, and to confirm her words the airy thing went waltzing, sailing, and fluttering round the room, and sipping mamma every now and then on the wing.

In this buoyancy she remained some twenty-four hours; and then came clouds and chills, which, in their turn, gave way to exultation, duly followed by depression. Her spirits were so uncertain, that things too minute to justify narration turned the scale either way: a word from Mrs. Dodd--a new face at St. Anne's Church looking devoutly her way--a piece of town gossip distilled in her ear by Mrs. Maxley--and she was sprightly or languid, and both more than reason.