“There are wretched misogynists who say that kind of thing never has answered,” said Mrs. Jerningham; “but we will try to prove them miserable maligners. And you will never regret the loss of a wife, or feel the want of a home, eh, Laurence?” “Never, while you abstain from foolish jealousies,” he answered boldly, and in all good faith. Mrs. Jerningham drove into town next day, to see Dr. Leonards, in accordance with her promise to Laurence Desmond. She was accompanied by Mrs. Colton, who thought it rather absurd that any one should take so much trouble about a Morland cough; but who was not ill-pleased to spend an hour in the delightful diversion of shopping, and to visit one of the winter exhibitions of pictures, while the horses took their rest and refreshment. Dr. Leonards said very little, except that Mrs. Jerningham’s chest was rather weak, and her nerves somewhat too highly strung. He asked her a few questions, wrote her a prescription, enjoined great care, and requested her to come to him again in a fortnight, or, better still, allow him to come to her. “For now, really, you ought not to be out to-day,” he said, glancing at a thermometer. “There is the slightest appearance of fever; and altogether, a drive from Hampton is about the worst possible thing for you. You ought to be sitting in a warm room at home.” “But look at my wraps,” exclaimed Mrs. Jerningham. “My dear lady, do you really imagine that your sables can protect you from the air you breathe? An equable temperature of about sixty degrees is what you require; and here you are, on a bleak March day, riding thirty miles in a draughty carriage. I must beg you to be more careful.” Mrs. Colton on this assured Dr. Leonards that the cough was only a family cough; but the physician repeated his injunction. “Prevention is better than cure,” he said. “I can say nothing wiser than the old adage. Thanks. Good morning.” This was the patient’s dismissal; the two ladies returned to their carriage. “I hope Mr. Desmond will be satisfied,” said Mrs. Jerningham; “and now let us go to see the French pictures.” At the French picture-gallery the ladies found Mr. Desmond, absorbed in the contemplation of a Meissonier. “How good of you to be here!” exclaimed Mrs. Jerningham, brightening as she recognized him; “and so, for once in a way, you really have a leisure morning.” “I never have a leisure morning; at this very moment I ought to be ‘sitting upon’ a sensational historian, who fancies himself something between Thucydides and Macaulay. But you told me you were coming here, and so I postpone my sensational historian’s annihilation until next week, and come to hear what Dr. Leonards says of your cough.” “Dr. Leonards says very little. I am to take care of myself. That is all.” “What does he mean by care?” “Oh, I suppose I am to go on wearing furs, and that kind of thing. And I am to see all the pictures of the year; and you are to find plenty of leisure mornings; and so on.”