She cast a look at the garden, which lay just beneath the window, full of flowers; then at the trowel—a strange implement in her hand. She thought Doctor R—— very odd, certainly, but she resolved to follow his directions implicitly. She went down stairs and was soon digging very zealously. Her glove was split by the first effort, of course; for a fashionably fitted glove admits not the free exercise of the muscles—but all was of no avail. Every corner of the little square was disturbed, but no talisman appeared. Weary at length of her new employment, Mrs. Waldorf gave up in despair, and sat down in a little arbor which offered its shade invitingly near her. Here she sank into a pleasant reverie, as one can scarcely help doing in a garden full of sweet flowers, and so pleasant was the sense of repose after labor, that she thought not of the lapse of time until she was startled by the voice of Doctor R——, returned from his visit and exceedingly surprised to find her still trowel in hand. “Why, my dear Madam,” he exclaimed, “you are forgetting your wish that Mr. Waldorf should not discover your visit to me! If he walks much in town he has had ample opportunity to observe his carriage at my door these two hours. You must learn to carry on clandestine affairs better than this! Have you the medicine?” Mrs. Waldorf laughed and related her ill success, which the doctor very much regretted, although he did not offer to assist in the search. “You are feeling tolerably well just now, I think,” he said; “your color is better than when you came in the morning.” “Oh yes! much better just now! But how charming your garden is! I do not wonder that you make a pet of it. We too have a few square inches of garden, but it gives me but little pleasure, because I have never done any thing to it myself. I think I shall get a trowel of my own.” “You delight me! You have only to cultivate and bring to perfection a single bed of carnations, to become as great an enthusiast as myself. But it must be done by your own hands—” “Yes, certainly; but now I must be gone. To-morrow I will hold myself in readiness to call on your friends at any hour you will appoint.” “What say you to eleven? Would that be too barbarous? The air is worth a good deal more at eleven than at one.” “At seven, if you like! Do not imagine me so very a slave to absurd fashions! I am determined you shall own me a reasonable woman yet.” Mrs. Waldorf called from the carriage window—“You’ll not forget to send the medicine, doctor?” “Certainly not! you shall have it at seven this evening, and I trust you will take it with exact regularity.” “Do not fear me,” she said, and the doctor made his bow of adieu. The medicine came at seven, with a sediment which looked not a little like grated potato, and without the slightest disagreeable taste. Accompanying directions required the disuse, for the present, of coffee and green tea; and recommended to Mrs. Waldorf a daily walk and a very early bed-hour.