"Yes; he thinks you look delicate," said Mr. Spolger, complacently; "indeed, he suggested several remedies. And if you would see him--" "No, no!" interposed Marson, quickly. "Really, Jackson, I'm astonished at you. If Florry requires to see a medical man, there is Dr. Japix; but as to letting a man like that Frenchman meddle with her health--why, the very look of him is enough." "Consumption," said Mr. Spolger, sagaciously; "he looks delicate, I know." "I think he is a very dangerous man," said Judith, in her quiet, composed voice; "he was a great friend of--" Here she checked herself suddenly. "Of Melstane," finished Spolger, scowling. "Yes, I know that. And talking about Mr. Melstane--" "Don't talk about Mr. Melstane," said Marson, sharply. "Why not?" Florry answered him, for she was evidently struggling with a fit of hysteria, and as he spoke she arose from her seat and fled rapidly from the room, followed by Judith. "There," said Marson, in an annoyed tone, "how foolish you are to speak of that scamp!" "I don't see why Florry shouldn't get used to his name," replied Spolger, sulkily. "Of course, I know she loved him, but it's all over now; he won't trouble her again." "Why not?" demanded Marson, quickly. "Because he's gone away. He had the impudence to call on me before he went, but I soon settled him, though he upset me dreadfully." "What did he call about?" Spolger was going to reply, when once more the door was thrown open, and the footman announced in stentorian tones: "Mr. Roger Axton." "Oh, how do you do, Mr. Axton?" said Mr. Marson, going forward to meet the young man. "I did not know you were down here." "No! I came by this morning's train from town," replied Roger, shaking the old man's hand. "I trust you are well, Mr. Spolger?" That gentleman shook his head as Axton sat down, and lights being brought in at this moment, looked sharply at the new-comer, answering his question in the Socratian fashion by asking another. "Are you well?" "Oh, yes!" replied Roger, hurriedly, "perfectly. I suffer a good deal from sleeplessness." "You should try--" "Spolger's Soother, I suppose?" "No," said Jackson, solemnly, "I never recommend that to my friends. You should try morphia. Why, what's the matter?" "Nothing," answered Roger, faintly, for he had started violently at the mention of the drug, "only I'm rather nervous." "You've been overworking, I suppose," said Mr. Marson, looking at him keenly; "burning the midnight oil." "No, indeed! I've been on a walking tour." "Very healthy exercise," said Mr. Spolger, approvingly. "I can't indulge in it myself because I've a tendency to varicose veins. What part of the country were you walking in?" "Down Winchester way," replied Roger, raising his eyes suddenly and looking at Mr. Marson steadily. "Oh, indeed!" answered that gentleman, with a start; "then I suppose you were near Jarlchester."