nothing was easier than to run this supposition up all the notes of the scale of the peerage,—­baronet, baron, viscount, earl, marquis, duke.  Higher they dared not go, though one old lady, acquainted with English history, hazarded the remark, that ’she believed that one or two of the Stuarts—­hem—­had not always been,—­ ahem—­quite correct in their—­conduct; and she fancied such—­ahem—­ things ran in families.’  But, in popular opinion, Mr. Gibson’s father always remained a duke; nothing more.

Then his mother must have been a Frenchwoman, because his hair was so black; and he was so sallow; and because he had been in Paris.  All this might be true, or might not; nobody ever knew, or found out anything more about him than what Mr. Hall told them, namely, that his professional qualifications were as high as his moral character, and that both were far above the average, as Mr. Hall had taken pains to ascertain before introducing him to his patients.  The popularity of this world is as transient as its glory, as Mr. Hall found out before the first year of his partnership was over.  He had plenty of leisure left to him now to nurse his gout and cherish his eyesight.  The younger doctor had carried the day; nearly every one sent for Mr Gibson now; even at the great houses—­even at the Towers, that greatest of all, where Mr. Hall had introduced his new partner with fear and trembling, with untold anxiety as to his behaviour, and the impression he might make on my lord the Earl, and my lady the Countess.  Mr. Gibson was received at the end of a twelvemonth with as much welcome respect for his professional skill as Mr. Hall himself had ever been.  Nay—­and this was a little too much for even the kind old doctor’s good temper—­Mr. Gibson had even been invited once to dinner at the Towers, to dine with the great Sir Astley, the head of the profession!  To be sure, Mr. Hall had been asked as well; but he was laid up just then with his gout, since he had had a partner the rheumatism had been allowed to develop itself, and he had not been able to go.  Poor Mr. Hall never quite got over this mortification; after it he allowed himself to become dim of sight and hard of hearing, and kept pretty closely to the house during the two winters that remained of his life.  He sent for an orphan grand-niece to keep him company in his old age; he, the woman-contemning old bachelor, became thankful for the cheerful presence of the pretty, bonny Mary Preston, who was good and sensible, and nothing more.  She formed a close friendship with the daughters of the vicar, Mr. Browning, and Mr. Gibson found time to become very intimate with all three.  Hollingford speculated much on which young lady would become Mrs Gibson, and was rather sorry when the talk about possibilities, and the gossip about probabilities with regard to the handsome young surgeon’s marriage, ended in the most natural manner in the world, by his marrying his predecessor’s niece.  The two Miss Brownings showed no signs of going into a consumption on the occasion, although their looks and manners were carefully watched.  On the contrary, they were rather boisterously merry at the wedding, and poor Mrs. Gibson it was that died of consumption, four or five years after her marriage—­three years after the death of her great-uncle, and when her only child, Molly, was just three years old.