‘Why not, Thorne?’

‘My friend, it is impossible.’

‘Why impossible?’

‘Her hand is not mine to dispose of, nor is her heart.’

‘Then let her come over herself.’

’What!  Scatcherd, that the son might make love to her while the father is so dangerously ill!  Bid her come to look for a rich husband!  That would not be seemly, would it?’

’No; not for that:  let her come merely that I may see her; that we may all know her.  I will leave the matter then in your hands if you will promise me to do your best.’

’But, my friend, in this matter I cannot do my best.  I can do nothing.  And, indeed, I may say at once, that it is altogether out of the question.  I know—­’

‘What do you know?’ said the baronet, turning on him almost angrily.  ’What can you know to make you say that it is impossible?  Is she a pearl of such price that a man may not win her?’

‘She is a pearl of great price.’

‘Believe me, doctor, money goes far in winning such pearls.’

’Perhaps so; I know little about it.  But this I do know, that money will not win her.  Let us talk of something else; believe me, it is useless for us to think of this.’

’Yes; if you set your face against it obstinately.  You must think very poorly of Louis if you suppose that no girl can fancy him.’

‘I have not said so, Scatcherd.’

’To have the spending of ten thousand a year, and be a baronet’s lady!  Why, doctor, what is it you expect for this girl?’

’Not much, indeed; not much.  A quiet heart and a quiet home; not much more.’

’Thorne, if you will be ruled by me in this, she shall be the most topping woman in this county.’

’My friend, my friend, why thus grieve me?  Why should you thus harass yourself?  I tell you it is impossible.  They have never seen each other; they have nothing, and can have nothing in common; their tastes, and wishes, and pursuits are different.  Besides, Scatcherd, marriages never answer that are so made; believe me, it is impossible.’

The contractor threw himself back on his bed, and lay for some ten minutes perfectly quiet; so much so that the doctor began to think that he was sleeping.  So thinking, and wearied by the watching, Dr Thorne was beginning to creep quietly from the room, when his companion again roused himself, almost with vehemence.

‘You won’t do this thing for me, then?’ said he.

’Do it!  It is not for you or me to do such things as that.  Such things must be left to those concerned themselves.’

‘You will not even help me?’

‘Not in this thing, Sir Roger.’

’Then by ——­, she shall not under any circumstances ever have a shilling of mine.  Give me some of that stuff there,’ and he again pointed to the brandy bottle which stood ever within his sight.’

The doctor poured out and handed to him another small modicum of spirit.