“Nothing whatever.”

“Instead of being dependent on a servant!  I believe in enjoying one’s self—­when ye’ve got the money to do it with!  Can ye imagine anybody living in Bursley, for pleasure?  And especially in St. Luke’s Square, right in the thick of it all!  Smoke!  Dirt!  No air!  No light!  No scenery!  No amusements!  What does she do it for?  She’s in a rut.”

“Yes, she’s in a rut,” Sophia repeated her own phrase, which he had copied.

“My word!” said the doctor.  “Wouldn’t I clear out and enjoy myself if I could!  Your sister’s a young woman.”

“Of course she is!” Sophia concurred, feeling that she herself was even younger.  “Of course she is!”

“And except that she’s nervously organized, and has certain predispositions, there’s nothing the matter with her.  This sciatica—­I don’t say it would be cured, but it might be, by a complete change and throwing off all these ridiculous worries.  Not only does she live in the most depressing conditions, but she suffers tortures for it, and there’s absolutely no need for her to be here at all.”

“Doctor,” said Sophia, solemnly, impressed, “you are quite right.  I agree with every word you say.”

“Naturally she’s attached to the place,” he continued, glancing round the room.  “I know all about that.  After living here all her life!  But she’s got to break herself of her attachment.  It’s her duty to do so.  She ought to show a little energy.  I’m deeply attached to my bed in the morning, but I have to leave it.”

“Of course,” said Sophia, in an impatient tone, as though disgusted with every person who could not perceive, or would not subscribe to, these obvious truths that the doctor was uttering.  “Of course!”

“What she needs is the bustle of life in a good hotel, a good hydro, for instance.  Among jolly people.  Parties!  Games!  Excursions!  She wouldn’t be the same woman.  You’d see.  Wouldn’t I do it, if I could?  Strathpeffer.  She’d soon forget her sciatica.  I don’t know what Mrs. Povey’s annual income is, but I expect that if she took it into her head to live in the dearest hotel in England, there would be no reason why she shouldn’t.”

Sophia lifted her head and smiled in calm amusement.  “I expect so,” she said superiorly.

“A hotel—­that’s the life.  No worries.  If ye want anything ye ring a bell.  If a waiter gives notice, it’s some one else who has the worry, not you.  But you know all about that, Mrs. Scales.”

“No one better,” murmured Sophia.

“Good evening,” he said abruptly, sticking out his hand.  “I’ll be down in the morning.”

“Did you ever mention this to my sister?” Sophia asked him, rising.

“Yes,” said he.  “But it’s no use.  Oh yes, I’ve told her.  But she does really think it’s quite impossible.  She wouldn’t even hear of going to live in London with her beloved son.  She won’t listen.”

“I never thought of that,” said Sophia.  “Good night.”