“I never can make out what you mean by a prig,” said Rosamond.

“A fellow who wants to show that he has opinions.”

“Why, my dear, doctors must have opinions,” said Mrs. Vincy.  “What are they there for else?”

“Yes, mother, the opinions they are paid for.  But a prig is a fellow who is always making you a present of his opinions.”

“I suppose Mary Garth admires Mr. Lydgate,” said Rosamond, not without a touch of innuendo.

“Really, I can’t say.” said Fred, rather glumly, as he left the table, and taking up a novel which he had brought down with him, threw himself into an arm-chair.  “If you are jealous of her, go oftener to Stone Court yourself and eclipse her.”

“I wish you would not be so vulgar, Fred. If you have finished, pray ring the bell.”

“It is true, though—­what your brother says, Rosamond,” Mrs. Vincy began, when the servant had cleared the table.  “It is a thousand pities you haven’t patience to go and see your uncle more, so proud of you as he is, and wanted you to live with him.  There’s no knowing what he might have done for you as well as for Fred. God knows, I’m fond of having you at home with me, but I can part with my children for their good.  And now it stands to reason that your uncle Featherstone will do something for Mary Garth.”

“Mary Garth can bear being at Stone Court, because she likes that better than being a governess,” said Rosamond, folding up her work.  “I would rather not have anything left to me if I must earn it by enduring much of my uncle’s cough and his ugly relations.”

“He can’t be long for this world, my dear; I wouldn’t hasten his end, but what with asthma and that inward complaint, let us hope there is something better for him in another.  And I have no ill-will toward’s Mary Garth, but there’s justice to be thought of.  And Mr. Featherstone’s first wife brought him no money, as my sister did.  Her nieces and nephews can’t have so much claim as my sister’s.  And I must say I think Mary Garth a dreadful plain girl—­more fit for a governess.”

“Every one would not agree with you there, mother,” said Fred, who seemed to be able to read and listen too.

“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Vincy, wheeling skilfully, “if she had some fortune left her,—­a man marries his wife’s relations, and the Garths are so poor, and live in such a small way.  But I shall leave you to your studies, my dear; for I must go and do some shopping.”

“Fred’s studies are not very deep,” said Rosamond, rising with her mamma, “he is only reading a novel.”

“Well, well, by-and-by he’ll go to his Latin and things,” said Mrs. Vincy, soothingly, stroking her son’s head.  “There’s a fire in the smoking-room on purpose.  It’s your father’s wish, you know—­Fred, my dear—­and I always tell him you will be good, and go to college again to take your degree.”

Fred drew his mother’s hand down to his lips, but said nothing.