“A poor woman below wishes to se you, sir,” said a servant.

“These poor women are perfect pests to society,” said the Doctor, as his nose assumed a still darker hue; “there is no resting upon one’s seat for them—­always something the matter!  The burn, and bruise, and hack themselves and their brats, one would really think, on purpose to give trouble.”

“I have not the least doubt of it,” said Lady Emily; “they must find your sympathy so soothing.”

“As to that, Lady Emily, if you know as much about poor women as I do, you wouldn’t think so much of them as you do.  Take my word for it—­they are one and all of them a very greedy, ungrateful set, and require to be kept at a distance.”

“And also to be kept waiting.  As poor people’s time is their only wealth, I observe you generally make them pay a pretty large fee in that way.”

“That is really not what I would have expected from you, Lady Emily.  I must take the liberty to say your Ladyship does me the greatest injustice.  You must be sensible how ready I am to fly,” rising as if he had been glued to his chair, “when there is any real danger.  I’m sure it was only last week I got up as soon as I had swallowed my dinner to see a man who had fallen down in a fit; and now I am going to this woman, who, I daresay, has nothing the matter with her, before my breakfast is well down my throat.”

“Who is that gentleman?” asked Mary, as the Doctor at length, with much reluctance, shuffled out of the room.

“He is a sort of medical aid-de-camp of papa’s,” answered Lady Emily; “who, for the sake of good living, has got himself completely domesticated here.  He is vulgar, selfish, and gourmand, as you must already have discovered; but these are accounted his greatest perfections, as papa, like all indolent people, must be diverted—­and that he never is by genteel, sensible people.  He requires something more piquant,and nothing fatigues him so much as the conversation of a commonplace, sensible man—­one who has the skill to keep his foibles out of sight.  Now what delights him in Dr. Redgill, there is no retenu—­any child who runs may read his character at a glance.”

“It certainly does not require much penetration,” said Mary, “to discover the Doctor’s master-passion; love of ease and self-indulgence seem to be the pre-dominant features of his mind; and he looks as if, when he sat in an arm-chair, with his toes on the fender and his hands crossed, he would not have an idea beyond ’I wonder what we shall have for dinner to-day.’”

“I’m glad to hear you say so, Miss Douglas,” said the Doctor, catching the last words as he entered the room, and taking them to be the spontaneous effusions of the speaker’s own heart; “I rejoice to hear you say so.  Suppose we send for the bill of fare,”—­pulling the bell; and then to the servant, who answered the summons, “Desire Grillade to send up his bill—­Miss Douglas wishes to see it.”