“Perhaps that will be the best way,” said the Colonel gravely. “Will you promise to abide by his decision?” “I don’t know! I mean, if everyone decided against me, _nothing_ should induce me to let _that_ Vaughan into Joe’s house to meddle with his patients.” Colonel Brownlow made a sign of displeased acquiescence, so like his brother when Carey was a little impetuous or naughty, that she instantly felt shocked at herself, and faltered, “I beg your pardon.” He seemed not to notice this, but went on, “As you say, it may be wise to consult Dr. Lucas. Perhaps, putting it up to competition would be the best way.” “Oh, no,” said Caroline. “Have you a letter from Dr. Drake?” “No.” “Then depend upon it he must have too much delicacy to begin about it so soon. I had rather he had it than anyone else.” “Can he make a fair offer for it? You cannot afford to throw away a substantial benefit for preferences,” said the Colonel. “At the outside, you will not have more than five hundred pounds a year, and I fear you will feel much straitened after what you are used to, with four boys, and such ideas as to their education,” he added smiling. “I don’t know, but I am sure it is what Joe would wish. He had rather trust his patients to Harry--to Dr. Drake--than to anyone, and he is just going to be married, and wants a practice; I shall write to him. It is so nice of him not to have pressed forward.” “You will not commit yourself?” said Colonel Brownlow. “Remember that your children’s interests are at stake, and must not be sacrificed to a predilection.” Again Caroline felt fiery and furious, and less inclined than ever to submit her judgment as she said, “You can inquire, but I know what Joe thought of him.” “His worthiness is not the point, but whether he can indemnify you.” “His worthiness not the point!” cried Caroline, indignantly. “I think it all the point.” “You misunderstand me; you totally misunderstand me,” exclaimed the Colonel trying hard to be gentle. “I never meant to recommend an unworthy man.” “You wanted Vaughan,” murmured Mother Carey, but he did not regard the words, perhaps did not hear them, for he went on: “My brother in such a case would have taken a reasonable view, and placed the good of his children before any amiable desire to benefit a--a--one unconnected with him. However,” he added, “there is no reason against writing to him, provided you do not commit yourself.” Caroline hated the word, but endured it, and the rest of the interview was spent upon some needful signatures, and on the question of her residence at Kenminster, an outlook which she contemplated as part of the darkness into which her life seemed to have suddenly dashed forward. One place would be much the same as another to her, and she could only hear with indifference about the three houses, possible, and the rent, garden, and number of rooms.