for him at the throne."

"Jargon," sighed Mrs. Dodd, and just shrugged her lovely shoulders. "We
breathe it--we float in an atmosphere of it. My love?" And she floated
out of the room, and Julia floated after.

Sampson sat meditating on the gullibility of man in matters medical. This
favourite speculation detained him late, and almost his first word on
entering the drawing-room was, "Good night, little girl."

Julia coloured at this broad hint, drew herself up, and lighted a
bedcandle. She went to Mrs. Dodd, kissed her, and whispered in her ear,
"I hate him!" and, as she retired, her whole elegant person launched
ladylike defiance; under which brave exterior no little uneasiness was
hidden. "Oh, what will become of me!" thought she, "if _he_ has gone and
told him about Henley?"


"Let's see the prescriptions, ma'am," said Dr. Sampson.

Delighted at this concession, Mrs. Dodd took them out of her desk and
spread them earnestly. He ran his eye over them, and pointed out that the
mucous-membrane man and the nerve man had prescribed the same medicine,
on irreconcilable grounds; and a medicine, moreover, whose effect on the
nerves was _nil,_ and on the mucous membrane was not to soothe it, but
plough it and harrow it; "and did not that open her eyes?" He then
reminded her that all these doctors in consultation would have contrived
to agree. "But you," said he, "have baffled the collusive hoax by which
Dox arrived at a sham uniformity--honest uniformity can never exist till
scientific principles obtain. Listme! To begin, is the pashint in love?"