"Very good style they did that in the other night," said Beresford, cutting in--"in Saxe-Coburg Square, I mean--very good, wasn't it? I suppose it was the lady's taste; but when they get hold of a woman with any notion of arrangement and effect, these _parvenu_ fellows from the City certainly don't grudge the money for their fun. And in the way the Schröders are living, the establishment must cost a pretty sum, I should imagine." "A pretty sum indeed, my dear sir," said the doctor. "However, I understand on all sides that Mr. Schröder can perfectly afford it. I hear from those who ought to know" (a great phrase of Dr. Prater's, this) "that his income is princely!" And then the doctor looked at the other two and repeated "princely!" and smacked his lips as though the word had quite a nice taste in his mouth. "It's a good thing to be a Polish Jew," growled Mr. Simnel. "This fellow's ancestors lent money to long-haired Grafs and swaggering Electors, and got their interest when they could; and thought themselves deuced lucky not to get their teeth pulled out when they asked for a little on account, or not to be put on the fire when they presented their bill. Their descendant lives in pleasanter days; we've given up pulling out their teeth, worse luck! And that neat little instrument, 'Victoria, by the grace,' is as open to Jews as Christians. I always thought there was something wrong in that." "This Schröder is a tremendously lucky fellow, by Jove!" said Beresford. "He's got a very pretty wife and an enormous fortune; and though he's not young, to judge from all appearances, has a constitution of iron, and will live for years to enjoy his good fortune." "Ah, my dear sir," said Dr. Prater in a low and solemn voice, "I'm afraid you're not correct in one particular; not correct in one particular!" and the little man shook his head and looked specially oracular. Simnel glanced up at him at once from under his heavy eyebrows; but Beresford only said, "Why, doctor, you're not going to try and make me believe any envious disparagement of Schröder's riches?" "Not for the world, my dear sir; not for the world! Such rumours have been spread! but, as you say, only among the envious and jealous, who would whisper-away Coutts's credit, and decline to intrust their miserable balance to Barings'! No; my doubts as to Schröder relate to another matter." "His health?" said Simnel, who had kept his eyes on the solemn little man, and was regarding him keenly. "Pre-cisely!" said the doctor. And he stepped aside for an instant, helped himself to a pinch of snuff from a box on a neighbouring table, and returned to his companions, gazing up at them with a solemn steady stare that made him look more like an owl than ever. "His health!" exclaimed Beresford, "why there's surely nothing the matter with that! He has the chest of a horse and the digestion of an ostrich. I don't know a man of his age to whom, to look at, you'd give a longer life."