“He in hospital! Why, bless your innocence, miss, I saw him yesterday, looking as well as such an ugly brute could look--not a mark on him, and he bragging what he would have done to Cashel if the police hadn’t come up. He’s a nasty, low fighting man, so he is; and I’m only sorry that our boy demeaned himself to strip with the like of him. I hear that Cashel made a perfect picture of him, and that you saw him. I suppose you were frightened, ma’am, and very naturally, too, not being used to such sights. I have had my Ned brought home to me in that state that I have poured brandy into his eye, thinking it was his mouth; and even Cashel, careful as he is, has been nearly blind for three days. It is not to be expected that they could have all the money for nothing. Don’t let it prey on your mind, miss. If you married--I am only supposing it,” said Mrs. Skene in soothing parenthesis as she saw Lydia shrink from the word--“if you were married to a great surgeon, as you might be without derogation to your high rank, you’d be ready to faint if you saw him cut off a leg or an arm, as he would have to do every day for his livelihood; but you’d be proud of his cleverness in being able to do it. That’s how I feel with regard to Ned. I tell you the truth, ma’am, I shouldn’t like to see him in the ring no more than the lady of an officer in the Guards would like to see her husband in the field of battle running his sword into the poor blacks or into the French; but as it’s his profession, and people think so highly of him for it, I make up my mind to it; and now I take quite an interest in it, particularly as it does nobody any harm. Not that I would have you think that Ned ever took the arm or leg off a man: Lord forbid--or Cashel either. Oh, ma’am, I thank you kindly, and I’m sorry you should have given yourself the trouble.” This referred to the entry of a servant with tea. “Still,” said Lydia, when they were at leisure to resume the conversation, “I do not quite understand why you have come to me. Personally you are quite welcome; but in what way did you expect to relieve Mr. Byron’s mind by visiting me? Did he ask you to come?” “He’d have died first. I came down of my own accord, knowing what was the matter with him.” “And what then?” Mrs. Skene looked around to satisfy herself that they were alone. Then she leaned towards Lydia, and said in an emphatic whisper, “Why won’t you marry him, miss?” “Because I don’t choose, Mrs. Skene,” said Lydia, with perfect good-humor.