all expected, and I am very fond of my cousin Milly.'

'How long have you been here exactly?'

I told him. It was some two or three months.

'Have you seen your other cousin yet--the young gentleman?'

'No.'

'H'm! Aren't you very lonely?' he enquired.

'We see no visitors here; but that, you know, I was prepared for.'

Doctor Bryerly read the wrinkles on his splay boot intently and peevishly,
and tapped the sole lightly on the ground.

'Yes, it is very lonely, and the people a bad lot. You'd be pleasanter
somewhere else--with Lady Knollys, for instance, eh?'

'Well, _there_ certainly. But I am very well here: really the time passes
very pleasantly; and my uncle is so kind. I have only to mention anything
that annoys me, and he will see that it is remedied: he is always
impressing that on me.'

'Yes, it is not a fit place for you,' said Doctor Bryerly. 'Of course,
about your uncle,' he resumed, observing my surprised look, 'it is all
right: but he's quite helpless, you know. At all events, _think_ about it.
Here's my address--Hans Emmanuel Bryerly, M.D., 17 King Street, Covent
Garden, London--don't lose it, mind,' and he tore the leaf out of his