and cheese for his brats." While Vivian is away,
we may go back a little.

The rise of Dr. White was curious. He
had come there in an obscure way, which should
not certainly be remarked on, as so many chose
that fashion of coming. A few had noticed
him. He was good looking, and had a good
address. The two or three who had spoken
to him never knew that he belonged to the
profession, until one day Lady Pilpay, going on to
Paris, and taken with the vapours or the
remains of sea-sickness at the "Royle," Le Bœuf
went off himself, distractedly, to fetch Dr.
Macan. It was late in the evening, and that
unhappy man, at that unhappy hour, was
actually sitting with a newly married compatriot,
who had money, over some rich and real
Irish native spirit. Such a treat he had not
had for years. Its delicious fumes brought him
back to the old country, and the sweet "county
Cark," and to Dr. Brennan's "beyan't Blarney."
There were two tumblers, then three, then four;
and then the messenger from his own house, sent
in by the agitated "missus," surprised him.

"Faith, and I've no notion of stirring, tell
her," said the doctor. "Not I!"

"Bring a little phial with you, Mary darling,"
said his friend, comically, "and we'll fill it for her
ladyship. It's the best medicine she could take."

Le Bœuf posted away to a well-known cafe,
where he knew he was certain of meeting the
French doctors, though, indeed, he knew he was
committing a blunder. Still, the Frenchman would
prescribe rest—rest at the Hôtel Royal. Just as
he reached the café, he was touched on the arm.

"I hear you were looking for the English
doctor," said a young man of good address,
'and that you could not find him. I am in the
profession, and if I could be of use——"

Le Bœuf looked at him. He was well
dressed, though a little hungry-looking, and had
a good manner.

"I have only been here a short time," said
the young man, answering an objection he saw
in the other's face.

Le Bœuf said it would do, and took him off.
The hungry look still struck him, and, as he
entered the hotel, he turned and said:

"She is not very ill. I think all she wants
is to repose herself for a few days."

"Thank you for the hint," said the other.
"Often unprofessional people see more of the
real nature of a malady than some of us."

He was introduced to Lady Pilpay's room—
a fat dowager, with a companion, and a corpulent
testy King Charles spaniel—that breed was then
in fashion, and considered in the haute école of
canine fancy—slumbering in an arm-chair. Her
ladyship herself was lying on the sofa. She
was pleased with the look of the young man.
In Ferbelow's mart, at home, she liked to
be served by good-looking young men, and
often said to some of the young ladies of that
house, "Go away, child; I am tired of your
awkward fingers. Tell them to send me Mr.
Jackson." And Mr. Jackson—a young gentleman
with pale whiskers—would come bowing,
and roll out his silks and ribbons in perfect
billows, and was pleasantly rallied by his friends
on this marked preference. She was delighted
with the skill of the new Dieppe doctor. He
spoke so softly, and, when he had mastered her
case, was so agreeable and pleasant in his
remedies. It was curious that he should have
been the only one that really hit off her
complaint—that is, agreed with her in what she
believed to be her complaint. His prescription
was rest, perfect rest, for a few days.

"Yours is a precious life, Lady Pilpay; and
you must not do too much."

This was very different from "that brute,"
Duncan Dennison, who had told her, roughly,
"There's nothing the matter with you, ma'am,
but too much good beef. A good breathing walk
every morning is the physic for you." Then Dr.
White noticed that the snappish little King
Charles, buried in his arm-chair, was very
delicate, and interested himself about him, and
promised to send him a soothing powder, later. He
and Lady Pilpay were nearly three weeks at the
Royal. By three weeks—nay, in three hours—
he was a famous and fashionable doctor in
Dieppe, a very agreeable young man, whom
Lady Pilpay—then the only lady of quality in the
place—thought more "clever" than Sir Duncan
Dennison. Her seal was set upon the young
doctor, and passed him current. Poor Dr. Macan!
—that was a costly tumbler of punch for him.

It was long told, as a proof of the
disinterested and handsome behaviour of the young
man that he had actually "insisted on calling
in Macan" in consultation. He was the chief
local practitioner. It was only common
courtesy, he said; and it was not fair in him as a
new comer. Macan came, breathing hard and
hastily; but Lady Pilpay, the moment almost she
saw him, took an aversion to him. Here again
ill luck pursued him; for, in his conflict of
emotions, he did not see the King Charles on the
rug, and stumbled over that over-fed brute, who
shrieked and snarled with pain and pettishness.

"A low whisky-drinking fellow, with no
manners! Throw the windows open, Jane."

Le Bœuf, too, was not ungrateful. A word
from him went a long way; and, by the time
Lady Pilpay had to proceed on her journey,
Doctor White's reputation was made. Was
it wonderful, then, that Colonel Vivian, the
splendid—when that illness produced by his
heroic deed came on—should be attended by
this agreeable man, now, indeed, enjoying large
practice? He attended Mrs. Guernsey Beaufort;
Dick, the consul; Mrs. Penny, the English
clergyman's wife, in her confinement: for in this
department, too, he was not unskilful; and
though the "little cherub"—Mrs. Penny's
daughter—was taken from them, nothing
reflected on the accoucheur, poor Penny's house
being, to use Captain Filby's phrase, "like a
dozen rabbit-warrens." He came twice every day
to Colonel Vivian's bedside. Vivian did not like
him. The origin of this dislike—which became
a scandal in the colony—we must now trace.

"He is quite harmless, I believe," he said,
laughing, to Lucy; "and he seems to be very
unsettled in his principles of medicine."