‘But, Mary.’

‘Well?’

‘You haven’t got another cup of tea, have you?’

‘Oh, uncle! you have had five.’

’No, my dear! not five; only four—­only four.  I assure you; I have been very particular to count.  I had one while I was—­’

‘Five uncle; indeed and indeed.’

’Well, then, as I hate the prejudice which attaches luck to an odd number, I’ll have the sixth to show that I am not superstitious.’

While Mary was preparing the sixth jorum, there came a knock at the door.  Those late summonses were hateful to Mary’s ear, for they were usually forerunners of a midnight ride through the dark lanes to some farmer’s house.  The doctor had been in the saddle all day, and, as Janet brought the note into the room, Mary stood up as though to defend her uncle from any further invasion on his rest.

‘A note from the house, miss,’ said Janet:  now ‘the house’, in Greshamsbury parlance, always meant the squire’s mansion.

‘No one ill at the house, I hope,’ said the doctor, taking the note from Mary’s hand.  ’Oh—­ah—­yes; it’s from the squire—­there’s nobody ill:  wait a minute, Janet, and I’ll write a line.  Mary, lend me your desk.’

The squire, anxious as usual for money, had written to ask what success the doctor had had in negotiating the new loan with Sir Roger.  That fact, however, was, that in his visit to Boxall Hill, the doctor had been altogether unable to bring on the carpet the matter of this loan.  Subjects had crowded themselves in too quickly during that interview—­those two interviews at Sir Roger’s bedside; and he had been obliged to leave without even alluding to the question.

‘I must at any rate go back now,’ he said to himself.  So he wrote to the squire, saying that he was to be at Boxall Hill again on the following day, and that he would call at the house on his return.

‘That’s all settled, at any rate,’ said he.

‘What’s settled?’ said Mary.

’Why, I must go to Boxall Hill again to-morrow.  I must go early, too, so we’d better both be off to bed.  Tell Janet I must breakfast at half-past seven.’

’You couldn’t take me, could you?  I should so like to see that Sir Roger.’

‘To see Sir Roger!  Why, he’s ill in bed.’

’That’s an objection, certainly; but some day, when he’s well, could you not take me over?  I have the greatest desire to see a man like that; a man who began with nothing and now has more than enough to buy the whole parish of Greshamsbury.’

‘I don’t think you’d like him at all.’

’Why not?  I am sure I should; I am sure I should like him, and Lady Scatcherd too.  I’ve heard you say that she is an excellent woman.’

’Yes, in her way; and he, too, is good in his way; but they are neither of them in your way:  they are extremely vulgar—­’

’Oh!  I don’t mind that; that would make them more amusing; one doesn’t go to those sort of people for polished manners.’