“I’ll believe you!” said Mrs. Dallop, with a touch of scorn at Mr. Crabbe’s apparent dimness.  “When a man’s been ’ticed to a lone house, and there’s them can pay for hospitals and nurses for half the country-side choose to be sitters-up night and day, and nobody to come near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he can hang together, and after that so flush o’ money as he can pay off Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill has been running on for the best o’ joints since last Michaelmas was a twelvemonth—­I don’t want anybody to come and tell me as there’s been more going on nor the Prayer-book’s got a service for—­ I don’t want to stand winking and blinking and thinking.”

Mrs. Dollop looked round with the air of a landlady accustomed to dominate her company.  There was a chorus of adhesion from the more courageous; but Mr. Limp, after taking a draught, placed his flat hands together and pressed them hard between his knees, looking down at them with blear-eyed contemplation, as if the scorching power of Mrs. Dollop’s speech had quite dried up and nullified his wits until they could be brought round again by further moisture.

“Why shouldn’t they dig the man up and have the Crowner?” said the dyer.  “It’s been done many and many’s the time.  If there’s been foul play they might find it out.”

“Not they, Mr. Jonas!” said Mrs Dollop, emphatically.  “I know what doctors are.  They’re a deal too cunning to be found out.  And this Doctor Lydgate that’s been for cutting up everybody before the breath was well out o’ their body—­it’s plain enough what use he wanted to make o’ looking into respectable people’s insides.  He knows drugs, you may be sure, as you can neither smell nor see, neither before they’re swallowed nor after.  Why, I’ve seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought more live children into the world nor ever another i’ Middlemarch—­I say I’ve seen drops myself as made no difference whether they was in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day.  So I’ll leave your own sense to judge.  Don’t tell me!  All I say is, it’s a mercy they didn’t take this Doctor Lydgate on to our club.  There’s many a mother’s child might ha’ rued it.”

The heads of this discussion at “Dollop’s” had been the common theme among all classes in the town, had been carried to Lowick Parsonage on one side and to Tipton Grange on the other, had come fully to the ears of the Vincy family, and had been discussed with sad reference to “poor Harriet” by all Mrs. Bulstrode’s friends, before Lydgate knew distinctly why people were looking strangely at him, and before Bulstrode himself suspected the betrayal of his secrets.  He had not been accustomed to very cordial relations with his neighbors, and hence he could not miss the signs of cordiality; moreover, he had been taking journeys on business of various kinds, having now made up his mind that he need not quit Middlemarch, and feeling able consequently to determine on matters which he had before left in suspense.