Mary gave it as her opinion that it did.

“Well, that’s all I’ve got by this business; but I never was consulted about it.  I thought it my duty, however, to give a leettle hint to the Earl, when the thing was proposed.  ‘My Lord,’ says I, ’your house is your own; you have a right to do what you please with it; burn it; pull it down; make a purgatory of it; but, for God’s sake, don’t give a ball in it!’ The ball was given, and you see the consequences.  A ball! and what’s a ball, that a whole family should be thrown into disorder for it?”

“I daresay, to those who are engaged in it, it is a very delightful amusement at the time.”

“Delightful fiddlestick!  ’Pon my soul, I’m surprised at you, Miss Mary!  I thought your staying away was a pretty strong proof of your good sense; but I—­hem!  Delightful amusement, indeed! to see human creatures twirling one another about all night like so many monkeys—­making perfect mountebanks of themselves.  Really, I look upon dancing as a most degrading and a most immoral practice.  ’Pon my soul, I—­I couldn’t have the face to waltz, I know; and it’s all on account of this delightful amusement—­” with a convulsive shake of his chin—­“that things are in this state—­myself kept waiting for my breakfast two hours and a half beyond my natural time:  not that I mind myself at all—­that’s neither here nor there—­and if I was the only sufferer, I’m sure I should be the very last to complain—­but I own it vexes—­it distresses me.  ’Pon my honour, can’t stand seeing a whole family going to destruction!”

The Doctor’s agitation was so great that Mary really pitied him.

“It is rather hard that you cannot get any breakfast since you had no enjoyment in the ball,” said she.  “I daresay, were I to apply to Mrs. Brown, she would trust me with her keys; and I shall be happy too officiate for her in making your tea.”

“Thank you, Miss Mary,” replied the Doctor coldly.  “I’m very much obliged to you.  It is really a very polite offer on your part; but—­hem!—­you might have observed that I never take tea to breakfast.  I keep that for the evening; most people, I know, do the reverse, but they’re in the wrong.  Coffee is too nutritive for the evening.  The French themselves are in an error there.  That woman, that Mrs. Brown knows what I like; in fact, she’s the only woman I ever met with who could make coffee—­coffee that I thought drinkable.  She knows that—­and she knows that I like it to a moment—­and yet—–­”

Here the Doctor blew his nose, and Mary thought she perceived a tear twinkle in his eye.  Finding she was incapable of administering consolation, she was about to quit the room, when the Doctor, recovering himself, called after her.

“If you happen to be going the way of Mrs. Brown’s room, Miss Mary, I would take it very kind if you could just contrive to let her know what time of day it is; and that I have not tasted a mouthful of anything since last night at twelve o’clock, when I took a leettle morsel of supper in my own room.”