But the doctor had seen the captain that
evening also. " Well, doctor!" said he, with
a world of wistfulness in hfe face. He had a
sacred reverence for these mystery men.

"Well," said the doctor, " she is very fair.
Nothing very wrong as yet. But I tell you
this, she shouldn't stay here this winter."

"Good gracious!" said the captain,
remonstrating, as if the matter rested with the doctor.
"Surely you wouldn't! Sir Duncan. You see,
the husband's business—you see. I know
myself he daren't stir, doctor. A great house.
And if you could manage it—-"

"Well, I only say what / would do to my
daughter. She shouldn't be away from Mentone
an hour; or else keep her all the winter in a
glass box, hermetically sealed, you know, which
you won't do, my dear captain; for I should
say my young lady had a little will of her own."
He was still a little nettled, this good-natured
doctor, at—the manner in which his paternal
advances had been received.

The captain went his way sadly troubled, and
repeating "God bless my soul!" many times,
and came back to the house, hoping to find Mr.
Tillotson. But he found the young mistress of
the house instead. ".And how do you feel
today, dear?" he said.

She laughed. "I must be dreadfully ill,"
she said. " He sent a doctor to me. Wasn't
it kind?"

"Yes," he said, "just like him. He's always
thinking of something about you. Poor Tillotson,
with all his business, my dear, he is very
fond of you—he is indeed." (This was said
with the wistful look, as if putting a question.)

She laughed a little laugh. " He is very
anxious about me indeed," she said. "Most
naturally. I remember this doctor said before
our marriage that I was a little consumptive.
No wonder he is getting impatient."

The captain took her hand gravely. "My
dear little child," he said, " you know old Tom
loves you, and always has loved you. You won't
mind what he says. Now what is this? I
declare to Heaven," he added, with fervour, " if
you only heard the way he spoke of you last
Sunday I declare it quite went to my heart!"

"O, of course," said she, " nunkey. I understand
all that. I know what it means. But,
nunkey, do I complain—do I say anything?
Of course he likes me, and I like him, of course,
also. And do you know what I mean to do this
winter, nunkey?" she added, wistfully.

"That's right," he said, eagerly. " Give me
the hand for that! I like to hear a fine pretty
young woman talk in this way. Of course you
like him. Well, and what are you to do this
winter?"

"I mean to go out a great deal," she
answered, " this winter. I want to see life—to
enjoy myself. Why should I be shut up here?
He doesn't care for it, of course. He likes his
ledgers, or other things he loves. Why should
I be sacrificed, nunkey? I shall go out and
dance every, every night! O, I should so
like it!"

Alarm came into the captain's face. "For
God's sake, no!" he said, " don't think of that!
My dear child, you should be kept shut up, or
else sent away to a warm climate. Upon my
honour and word and credit Sir Duncan said
that!"

"Ah, I dare say," she answered, excited.
"Of course he speaks as they wish him to
speak. Between them all, they would be glad
to shut me up, nunkey—put me by for ever,
and make room for some one else."

"My God!" said the captain. "No, that
doctor loves you like his own daughter. I
know you're not to do it—not to think of it.
The doctor said so. Why, you'd kill yourself!"

"What a misfortune that would be!" she
said. "Wouldn't there be weeping and sorrow!
But I am determined, nunkey. I suppose I
didn't marry to be shut up in a jail!"

"All I can say, my dear child," went on the
captain, in real alarm, " you'll be in your grave
before a week. Indeed, if you knew what the
doctor said—that you shouldn't even be here
this winter—- But you mustn't think of that
going out in the winter. Promise me."

"So they would shut me up," she answered,
"or send me out of the country? Well,
perhaps they are right. Ah, nunkey, you are my
only friend! Give me a kiss."

The captain enfolded her in his honest arms.
"My dear little girl," he said, "get all these
notions out of your poor head. And if Tom
can help you in any way——"

He went his way, not knowing what to make
of the business, but arriving at this conclusion,
"that Tom was an old botch, and always put
his stupid old lame leg in it whenever he
interfered." But his true conviction was, that
"women, the creatures! had their little ways
of their own, and took their little humours, God
bless them! as a matter of course, and indications
of affection." And then he thought of
"Williams" (Tom—now governor of a Scotch
fort), whose " girl" used to cry and come to the
barracks, and break all the furniture. " And I
know," thought the honest captain, "never girl
loved a man more than she did." He was sure,
therefore, it would all come right.

CHAPTER VII. MR. TILNEY SETS MATTERS RIGHT.

MEANWHILE, Mr. Tillotson, with much excitement,
was proceeding in those delicate negotiations.
The board of the Foncier seemed to be
sitting in permanence. A Mr. Moxon was
secretary to the failing company, and to him the
first approaches were made.

Mr. Tillotson was not officially known in the
City as yet, and might be accepted as a sort of
neutral. He was eminently, therefore, the fittest
person to begin the matter. He also knew this
Moxon a little, had met him once or twice at
dinner.

He began with great caution. " You will
sound him, sound him, sound him," repeated
Mr. Bowater, speaking of Moxon as if he were a
melodious bell. " Sound him gently, you know.
That's the plan. Feel our way."