MONA MACLEAN MEDICAL STUDENT _A NOVEL_ BY GRAHAM TRAVERS (MARGARET TODD, M.D.) FIFTEENTH AND CHEAPER EDITION WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCC _All Rights reserved_ _BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ WINDYHAUGH. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s. FELLOW TRAVELLERS. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON. CONTENTS. CHAP. I. IN THE GARDEN II. THE LISTS III. "ADOLESCENT INSANITY" IV. SIR DOUGLAS V. "AN AGATE KNIFE-EDGE" VI. THE NÆRODAL VII. A SON OF ANAK VIII. BONS CAMARADES IX. DORIS X. BORROWNESS XI. THE SHOP XII. CASTLE MACLEAN XIII. THE CHAPEL XIV. REACTION XV. THE BOTANISTS XVI. "JOHN HOGG'S MACHINE" XVII. AUNTIE BELL XVIII. A SILHOUETTE XIX. "LEAVES OF GRASS" XX. ST RULES XXI. THE FLYING SCOTCHMAN XXII. DR ALICE BATESON XXIII. A RENCONTRE XXIV. A CLINICAL REPORT XXV. A VOICE IN THE FOG XXVI. A CHAT BY THE FIRE XXVII. A NEOPHYTE XXVIII. THE COLONEL'S YARN XXIX. "YONDER SHINING LIGHT" XXX. MR STUART'S TROUBLES XXXI. STRADIVARIUS XXXII. CHUMS XXXIII. CARBOLIC! XXXIV. PALM-TREES AND PINES XXXV. WEEPING AND LAUGHTER XXXVI. NORTHERN MISTS XXXVII. THE ALGÆ AND FUNGI XXXVIII. THE BAZAAR XXXIX. THE BALL XL. A LOCUM TENENS XLI. A SINGED BUTTERFLY XLII. QUESTIONINGS XLIII. "MITHER!" XLIV. A CRIMSON STREAK XLV. AN UNBELIEVER XLVI. FAREWELL TO BORROWNESS XLVII. THE DISSECTING-ROOM XLVIII. CONFIDENCES XLIX. THE INTERMEDIATE L. SUCCESS OR FAILURE? LI. ANOTHER CHAT BY THE FIRE LII. OLD FRIENDS LIII. WAITING LIV. PRESENTATION DAY LV. LUCY TO THE RESCUE LVI. A LOST CHANCE LVII. HAVING IT OUT LVIII. "LOVE MAY GO HANG!" LIX. AT LAST! LX. ON THE RIVER LXI. A FIN-DE-SIECLE COURTSHIP LXII. IN ARCADIA LXIII. "VARIUM ET MUTABILE" LXIV. PARTNERS MONA MACLEAN, MEDICAL STUDENT. CHAPTER I. IN THE GARDEN. "I wish I were dead!" "H'm. You look like it." There was no reply for a second or two. The first speaker was carefully extricating herself from the hammock in which she had been idly swinging under the shade of a smoke-begrimed lime-tree. "No," she said at last, shaking out the folds of her dainty blue gown, "I flatter myself that I do not look like it. I have often told you, my dear Mona, that from the point of view of success in practice, the art of dressing one's hair is at least as important as the art of dissecting." She gave an adjusting touch to her dark-red curls and drew herself to her full height, as though she were defying the severest critic to say that she did not live up to her principles. Presently her whole bearing collapsed, so to speak, into abject despair, half real, half assumed. "But I do wish I were dead, all the same," she said. "Well, I don't see why you should make me wish it too. Why don't you go on with your book?"