“Ah! like this poor Mrs. Renfrew—­that is what I think.  Dropsy!  There is no swelling yet—­it is inward.  I should say she ought to take drying medicines, shouldn’t you?—­or a dry hot-air bath.  Many things might be tried, of a drying nature.”

“Let her try a certain person’s pamphlets,” said Mrs. Cadwallader in an undertone, seeing the gentlemen enter.  “He does not want drying.”

“Who, my dear?” said Lady Chettam, a charming woman, not so quick as to nullify the pleasure of explanation.

“The bridegroom—­Casaubon.  He has certainly been drying up faster since the engagement:  the flame of passion, I suppose.”

“I should think he is far from having a good constitution,” said Lady Chettam, with a still deeper undertone.  “And then his studies—­so very dry, as you say.”

“Really, by the side of Sir James, he looks like a death’s head skinned over for the occasion.  Mark my words:  in a year from this time that girl will hate him.  She looks up to him as an oracle now, and by-and-by she will be at the other extreme.  All flightiness!”

“How very shocking!  I fear she is headstrong.  But tell me—­you know all about him—­is there anything very bad?  What is the truth?”

“The truth? he is as bad as the wrong physic—­nasty to take, and sure to disagree.”

“There could not be anything worse than that,” said Lady Chettam, with so vivid a conception of the physic that she seemed to have learned something exact about Mr. Casaubon’s disadvantages.  “However, James will hear nothing against Miss Brooke.  He says she is the mirror of women still.”

“That is a generous make-believe of his.  Depend upon it, he likes little Celia better, and she appreciates him.  I hope you like my little Celia?”

“Certainly; she is fonder of geraniums, and seems more docile, though not so fine a figure.  But we were talking of physic.  Tell me about this new young surgeon, Mr. Lydgate.  I am told he is wonderfully clever:  he certainly looks it—­a fine brow indeed.”

“He is a gentleman.  I heard him talking to Humphrey.  He talks well.”

“Yes.  Mr. Brooke says he is one of the Lydgates of Northumberland, really well connected.  One does not expect it in a practitioner of that kind.  For my own part, I like a medical man more on a footing with the servants; they are often all the cleverer.  I assure you I found poor Hicks’s judgment unfailing; I never knew him wrong.  He was coarse and butcher-like, but he knew my constitution.  It was a loss to me his going off so suddenly.  Dear me, what a very animated conversation Miss Brooke seems to be having with this Mr. Lydgate!”

“She is talking cottages and hospitals with him,” said Mrs. Cadwallader, whose ears and power of interpretation were quick.  “I believe he is a sort of philanthropist, so Brooke is sure to take him up.”

“James,” said Lady Chettam when her son came near, “bring Mr. Lydgate and introduce him to me.  I want to test him.”