"Not at present," answered Mr. Spolger, emphatically. "I always accustom myself to the temperature of a place by degrees. A sudden chill is worse than damp feet." "Will you have some tea, Mr. Spolger?" asked Judith, for the footman had now brought in the teapot and a plate of toast. "No, thank you," answered the hypochondriac, politely. "I'm undergoing a course of medicine just now, and tea in my present condition means death." "Then have some toast," said Florry, laughingly, presenting him with the plate. "Buttered," said Mr. Spolger, looking at the plate. "Horrible! The worst thing in the world for me! I take dry toast for breakfast, with a glass of hot water--nothing more." "I hope you don't intend me to breakfast like that," said Florry, saucily. "My dear, you can eat what you like," answered Mr. Spolger, solemnly producing his little book. "Should you suffer from your indiscretion, I have always got the remedy in this." "Did the medicine Dr. Japix prescribed do you good?" asked Judith. "Not a bit," said Spolger, slowly taking off his coat. "I still suffer from sleeplessness. However, I've got a new idea I'm going to carry out. Cold water bandages at the head, and a hot brick at the feet. There, now my coat is off I feel beautiful." "Well! well!" said Mr. Marson, rather impatient of all this medical talk, "I hope you'll be quite well for your wedding." "I hope so, too," retorted Spolger, with gloomy foreboding. "I've arranged all the tour, Florry. We go first to Malvern, a very healthy place, then to Bath to drink the waters. After that, if you like, we'll go abroad, though I much distrust the drainage of these foreign towns." "Oh, let us go abroad at once," said Florry, eagerly; "to Paris. If you find it too lively, you can walk everyday in the Père-la-Chaise Cemetery." "Don't jest on such a subject, Florry," said Judith, reprovingly. "Oh, I don't mind," replied the lover, with gloomy relish; "we'll all have to go to the cemetery some day, so it's as well to get accustomed to the idea." His three listeners looked rather depressed at this dismal prophecy, but said nothing, while Mr. Spolger told cheerful little stories of how his liver would treat him if he did not look after it. This led him to talk of medicine, which suggested chemists, which in their turn suggested Wosk & Co., so by-and-by Mr. Spolger began to talk of Monsieur Judas. "A most estimable young man," he said, feeling his own pulse in a professional manner; "he has had typhoid fever twice, and suffers from corns." "Tight boots?" asked Florry, flippantly. "No, hereditary! Most curious case. But talking of Monsieur Guinaud--" "Judas," said Miss Varlins, smiling. "Yes, I hear they call him Judas on account of his red hair," replied Mr. Spolger, laughing carefully. "Well, as a chemist, he takes a great interest in Florry." "In me?" cried the damsel, indignantly.