Lord George certainly had not come up to town merely to hear the great dignitaries of his country abused. But he was comforted somewhat as he reflected that a dying man would hardly turn his mind to such an occupation. When a sick man criticises his doctor severely he is seldom in a very bad way. "Have you had anybody else with you, Brotherton?" "One is quite enough. But I had another. A fellow named Bolton was here, a baronet, I believe, who told me I ought to walk a mile in Hyde Park every day. When I told him I couldn't he said I didn't know till I tried. I handed him a five-pound note, upon which he hauled out three pounds nineteen shillings change and walked off in a huff. I didn't send for him any more." "Sir James Bolton has a great reputation." "No doubt. I daresay he could cut off my leg if I asked him, and would then have handed out two pounds eighteen with the same indifference." "I suppose your back is better?" "No, it isn't,--not a bit. It gets worse and worse." "What does Dr. Pullbody say?" "Nothing that anybody can understand. By George! he takes my money freely enough. He tells me to eat beefsteaks and drink port-wine. I'd sooner die at once. I told him so, or something a little stronger, I believe, and he almost jumped out of his shoes." "He doesn't think there is any----danger?" "He doesn't know anything about it. I wish I could have your father-in-law in a room by ourselves, with a couple of loaded revolvers. I'd make better work of it than he did." "God forbid!" "I daresay he won't give me the chance. He thinks he has done a plucky thing because he's as strong as a brewer's horse. I call that downright cowardice." "It depends on how it began, Brotherton." "Of course there had been words between us. Things always begin in that way." "You must have driven him very hard." "Are you going to take his part? Because, if so, there may as well be an end of it. I thought you had found him out and had separated yourself from him. You can't think that he is a gentleman?" "He is a very liberal man." "You mean to sell yourself, then, for the money that was made in his father's stables?" "I have not sold myself at all. I haven't spoken to him for the last month." "So I understood; therefore I sent for you. You are all back at Manor Cross now?" "Yes;--we are there." "You wrote me a letter which I didn't think quite the right thing. But, however, I don't mind telling you that you can have the house if we can come to terms about it." "What terms?"