“The Rev. Dr. Middleton.”

Mr. Dale bowed.  He seemed surprised.

“You live in a splendid air, sir,” observed the Rev. Doctor.

“I can profit little by it, sir,” replied Mr. Dale.  He asked the ladies:  “Will Sir Willoughby be disengaged?”

They consulted.  “He is with Vernon.  We will send to him.”

The bell was rung.

“I have had the gratification of making the acquaintance of your daughter, Mr. Dale, a most estimable lady,” said Dr. Middleton.

Mr. Dale bowed.  “She is honoured by your praises, sir.  To the best of my belief—­I speak as a father—­she merits them.  Hitherto I have had no doubts.”

“Of Laetitia?” exclaimed the ladies; and spoke of her as gentleness and goodness incarnate.

“Hitherto I have devoutly thought so,” said Mr. Dale.

“Surely she is the very sweetest nurse, the most devoted of daughters.”

“As far as concerns her duty to her father, I can say she is that, ladies.”

“In all her relations, Mr. Dale!”

“It is my prayer,” he said.

The footman appeared.  He announced that Sir Willoughby was in the laboratory with Mr. Whitford, and the door locked.

“Domestic business,” the ladies remarked.  “You know Willoughby’s diligent attention to affairs, Mr. Dale.”

“He is well?” Mr. Dale inquired.

“In excellent health.”

“Body and mind?”

“But, dear Mr. Dale, he is never ill.”

“Ah! for one to hear that who is never well!  And Mr. Whitford is quite sound?”

“Sound?  The question alarms me for myself,” said Dr. Middleton.  “Sound as our Constitution, the Credit of the country, the reputation of our Prince of poets.  I pray you to have no fears for him.”

Mr. Dale gave the mild little sniff of a man thrown deeper into perplexity.

He said:  “Mr. Whitford works his head; he is a hard student; he may not be always, if I may so put it, at home on worldly affairs.”

“Dismiss that defamatory legend of the student, Mr. Dale; and take my word for it, that he who persistently works his head has the strongest for all affairs.”

“Ah!  Your daughter, sir, is here?”

“My daughter is here, sir, and will be most happy to present her respects to the father of her friend, Miss Dale.”

“They are friends?”

“Very cordial friends.”

Mr. Dale administered another feebly pacifying sniff to himself.

“Laetitia!” he sighed, in apostrophe, and swept his forehead with a hand seen to shake.

The ladies asked him anxiously whether he felt the heat of the room; and one offered him a smelling-bottle.

He thanked them.  “I can hold out until Sir Willoughby comes.”

“We fear to disturb him when his door is locked, Mr. Dale; but, if you wish it, we will venture on a message.  You have really no bad news of our Laetitia?  She left us hurriedly this morning, without any leave-taking, except a word to one of the maids, that your condition required her immediate presence.”