“Mr. Jones,” said she, “the first day my husband came here Mr. Salter gave him a sedative, or something, and it made him much worse.” “It always do make 'em worse,” said Jones, bluntly. “Then why did he give it?” “Out o' book, ma'am. His sort don't see how the medicines work; but we do, as are always about the patient.” “Mr. Jones,” said Lady Bassett, “if Mr. Salter, or anybody, prescribes, it is you who _administer_ the medicine.” Jones assented with a wink. Winking was his foible, as puckering of the face was Coyne's. “Should you be offended if I were to offer you and the nurse ten guineas a month to pretend you had given him Mr. Salter's medicines, and not do it?” “Oh, that is not much to do for a gentleman like Sir Charles,” said Jones. “But I didn't ought to take so much money for that. To be sure, I suppose, the lady won't miss it.” “Don't be a donkey, Jones,” said Sir Charles, cutting short his hypocrisy. “Take whatever you can get; only earn it.” “Oh, what I takes I earns.” “Of course,” said Sir Charles. “So that is settled. You have got to physic those flower-pots instead of me, that is all.” This view of things tickled Jones so that he roared with laughter. However, he recollected himself all of a sudden, and stopped with ludicrous abruptness. He said to Lady Bassett, with homely kindness, “You go home comfortable, my lady; you have taken the stick by the right end.” He then had the good sense to retire from the room. Then Lady Bassett told Sir Charles of her visit to London, and her calling on Mr. Rolfe. He looked blank at his wife calling on a bachelor; but her description of the man, his age, and his simplicity, reconciled him to that; and when she told him the plan and order of campaign Mr. Rolfe had given her he approved it very earnestly. He fastened in particular on something that Mr. Rolfe had dwelt lightly on. “Dear as the sight of you is to me, sweet as the sound of your loved voice is to my ears and my heart, I would rather not see you again until our hopes are realized than jeopardize _that.”_ Lady Bassett sighed, for this seemed rather morbid. Sir Charles went on: “So think of your own health first, and avoid agitations. I am tormented with fear lest that monster should take advantage of my absence to molest you. If he does, leave Huntercombe. Yes, leave it; go to London; go, even for my sake; my health and happiness depend on you; they cannot be much affected by anything that happens here. 'Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.'” Lady Bassett promised, but said she could not keep away from him, and he must often write to her. She gave him Rolfe's formula, and told him all letters would pass that praised the asylum. Sir Charles made a wry face.