’Why, you say she sleeps a great deal, and doesn’t talk much when she’s awake, and there’s not the slightest hope for her.  And yet, at such times, people are kept on the tenterhooks with watching and waiting.  I know it by my dear Kirkpatrick.  There really were days when I thought it never would end.  But we won’t talk any more of such dismal things; you’ve had quite enough of them, I’m sure, and it always makes me melancholy to hear of illness and death; and yet your papa seems sometimes as if he could talk of nothing else.  I’m going to take you out to-night, though, and that will give you something of a change; and I’ve been getting Miss Rose to trim up one of my old gowns for you; it’s too tight for me.  There’s some talk of dancing,—­it’s at Mrs. Edward’s.’

‘Oh, mamma, I cannot go!’ cried Molly.  ’I’ve been so much with her; and she may be suffering so, or even dying—­and I to be dancing!’

’Nonsense!  You’re no relation, so you need not feel it so much.  I wouldn’t urge you, if she was likely to know about it and be hurt; but as it is, it’s all fixed that you are to go; and don’t let us have any nonsense about it.  We might sit twirling our thumbs, and repeating hymns all our lives long, if we were to do nothing else when people were dying.’

‘I cannot go,’ repeated Molly.  And, acting upon impulse, and almost to her own surprise, she appealed to her father, who came into the room at this very time.  He contracted his dark eyebrows, and looked annoyed as both wife and daughter poured their different sides of the argument into his ears.  He sate down in desperation of patience.  When his turn came to pronounce a decision, he said,—­

’I suppose I can have some lunch?  I went away at six this morning, and there’s nothing in the dining-room.  I have to go off again directly.’

Molly started to the door; Mrs. Gibson made haste to ring the bell.

‘Where are you going, Molly?’ said she, sharply.

‘Only to see about papa’s lunch.’

’There are servants to do it; and I don’t like your going into the kitchen.’

‘Come, Molly! sit down and be quiet,’ said her father.  ’One comes home wanting peace and quietness—­and food too.  If I am to be appealed to, which I beg I may not be another time, I settle that Molly stops home this evening.  I shall come back late and tired.  See that I have something ready to eat, goosey, and then I’ll dress myself up in my best, and go and fetch you home, my dear.  I wish all these wedding festivities were well over.  Ready, is it?  Then I’ll go into the dining-room and gorge myself.  A doctor ought to be able to eat like a camel, or like Major Dugald Dalgetty.’