“Oh, I’ll do that, papa.”

“No, no; it is not worth a rumpus.”

“I’ll do it too politely for that.  Christopher, you are very clever—­terribly clever.  Whenever I threw their medicines away, I was always a little better that day.  I will sacrifice them to you.  It is a sacrifice.  They are both so kind and chatty, and don’t grudge me hieroglyphics; now you do.”

She sat down and wrote two sweet letters to Dr. Snell and Mr. Wyman, thanking them for the great attention they had paid her; but finding herself getting steadily worse, in spite of all they had done for her, she proposed to discontinue her medicines for a time, and try change of air.

“And suppose they call to see whether you are changing the air?”

“In that case, papa—­’not at home.’”

The notes were addressed and despatched.

Then Dr. Staines brightened up, and said to Lusignan, “I am now happy to tell you that I have overrated the malady.  The sad change I see in Miss Lusignan is partly due to the great bulk of unwholesome esculents she has been eating and drinking under the head of medicines.  These discontinued, she might linger on for years, existing, though not living—­the tight-laced cannot be said to live.  But if she would be healthy and happy, let her throw that diabolical machine into the fire.  It is no use asking her to loosen it; she can’t.  Once there, the temptation is too strong.  Off with it, and, take my word, you will be one of the healthiest and most vigorous young ladies in Europe.”

Rosa looked rueful, and almost sullen.  She said she had parted with her doctors for him, but she really could not go about without stays.  “They are as loose as they can be.  See!”

“That part of the programme is disposed of,” said Christopher.  “Please go on to No. 2.  How about the raw red line where the loose machine has sawed you?”

“What red line?  No such thing!  Somebody or other has been peeping in at my window.  I’ll have the ivy cut down to-morrow.”

“Simpleton!” said Mr. Lusignan, angrily.  “You have let the cat out of the bag.  There is such a mark, then, and this extraordinary young man has discerned it with the eye of science.”

“He never discerned it at all,” said Rosa, red as fire; “and, what is more, he never will.”

“I don’t want to.  I should be very sorry to.  I hope it will be gone in a week.”

“I wish you were gone now—­exposing me in this cruel way,” said Rosa, angry with herself for having said an idiotic thing, and furious with him for having made her say it.

“Oh, Rosa!” said Christopher, in a voice of tenderest reproach.

But Mr. Lusignan interfered promptly.  “Rosa, no noise.  I will not have you snapping at your best friend and mine.  If you are excited, you had better retire to your own room and compose yourself.  I hate a clamor.”

Rosa made a wry face at this rebuke, and then began to cry quietly.