Beatrix was not reading history on this particular morning. She was sitting by one of the deep set windows, with her folded arms resting on the broad oaken ledge, and her heavy eyes watching the drifting clouds in the windy sky--or the bare black elm-branches tossing against the gray. She looked round listlessly when Mr. Namby came in, and gave him her hand with a mechanical air, which he often saw in small patients who were told to shake hands with the doctor. ‘Dear, dear, this is very bad,’ he said, in his fatherly way. ‘We are looking quite sadly this morning.’ Then came the usual ordeal. The doctor held the slight wrist between his fingers, and consulted a pale faced watch, with a surreptitious air. ‘Quick, and irregular,’ he said, ‘and weak. We must do something to set you right, my dear young lady. Have you been over exerting yourself lately?’ ‘She has,’ exclaimed Miss Scales, in an aggrieved tone. ‘She’s been riding and driving far too much--too much even for the horses, Jarvis told me, so you may imagine it was too much for her.’ ‘My dear Miss Scales, you forget that the horse had the greater share of the labour,’ interposed Beatrix. ‘I repeat, Beatrix,’ protested Miss Scales, severely, ‘that if it was too much for the horse it must have been infinitely worse for you. You have not the constitution of a horse, or the endurance of a horse, or the strength of a horse. Don’t talk nonsense.’ The doctor asked a string of questions. Did she eat well--sleep well? Beatrix was obliged to confess that she did neither. ‘She eats hardly anything,’ said Miss Scales, ‘and I know by her candle that she reads half the night.’ ‘What can I do but read,’ exclaimed Beatrix. ‘I have no pleasant thoughts of my own. I am obliged to find them in books.’ ‘Oh, dear, dear,’ cried the doctor, ‘why a young lady like you ought to have her mind full of pleasant thoughts.’ Beatrix sighed. ‘I see what it is--the nervous power over-tasked--a slight tendency to insomnia. We must not allow this to go on, my dear Miss Harefield. The riding and driving are all very well, but in moderation. _In medio tutissimus ibis_, as they used to teach us at school. And a nice quiet walk with Miss Scales, now, would be a beneficial alternation with the equestrian exercise. Walk one day, ride the next. If it were a different time of year I might suggest change of air. Filey--or Harrogate--but just now of course that is out of the question. Do you remember what I prescribed for you after the whooping cough?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Beatrix. ‘You gave me a playfellow.’ ‘To be sure I did. Well, now, I say again you must have youthful society. A companion of your own age. I thought Miss Scratchell and you were inseparable.’ ‘We used to be--but, since she has gone out as a daily governess, we have seen much less of each other--and lately she has been particularly busy. She is very good.’ ‘And you are fond of her.’ ‘Yes, I like her very much.’