"The Doctor's in, and alone, sir, I think," said he, in reply to George's inquiry. "The same rooms, however--3 in Z; he has not moved since you were last here." George nodded, and passed on. On his arrival at his father's rooms, which were on the first-floor, he found the oak sported; but he knew that this really meant nothing, it being the Doctor's habit to show "out," as it were, against any chance callers; while, if he were within, the initiated could always obtain admission by a peculiar knock. This knock George gave at once, and speedily heard the sound of someone moving within. Presently the doors were opened and Dr. Wainwright appeared on the threshold; he held a reading-lamp in his hand, which he raised above his head as he peered into the face of his visitor. "George!" he cried, after an instant's scrutiny, "this is a surprise. Come in, my dear boy. How damp you are, and what a wretched night! Come in and make yourself comfortable." "I am not disturbing you, father. I hope?" said George, as he followed the Doctor into the room. "As usual, you are in the thick of it, I see," he continued, while pointing to a pile of books, some open, some closed, with special passages marked in them by pieces of paper hanging out of the edges, and to a mass of manuscript on the Doctor's blotting pad. "Not a bit, my dear boy, not a bit," said the Doctor; "I was merely demolishing old Dilsworth's preposterous theories as regards puerperal insanity. By-the-way, you should look at his pamphlet, George; you know quite sufficient of the subject to comprehend in an instant what an idiot he makes of himself; indeed, I should be quite glad to escape from his unsound premises and ridiculous conclusions into the region of common sense." "You are looking very well," said George; "your hard work does not seem to do you any harm." "No, indeed, my dear boy; the harder I work, the better I feel, I think; but I take a little more relaxation than I did, and I like to have things comfortable about me."