"You, dear Doctor Bolter," said Grey, smiling in his face. "Yes; that is the person I mean, my dear. Do you want to disgrace him?" "Disgrace you, doctor?" said Grey, wonderingly. "Yes, by turning weak and delicate and ill after all I have done to keep you sound and well. No, Grey Stuart, my dear; there are some people in this busy world of ours who must never break down, never want rest, and never be ill in any shape; those people are doctors like me--and clever, useful little women like you. Depend upon it, my dear, if you were to turn poorly there would be a regular outcry upon the station, and everyone would be finding out your value." "But they used to do without me, doctor," said Grey, smiling. "Exactly, my dear; but now that they have become used to the luxury of your presence they will not do without it again. No, my dear; you must not turn ill. Ergo, as Shakspere's clown says, you must not fret. Let's hope, my dear, that all will come right yet." "I will try and hope, doctor," said Grey, quietly, "and I will not fret." "That's right, little woman. Depend upon it, two such dashing fellows as Chumbley and friend Hilton will not drop out of sight like stones thrown down a well. They'll turn up again some day. Good-bye. Take care of my little wifie: she's the only one I've got, you know," he added, laughingly. "Going to see her now?" "Yes, doctor." "When is she going to leave Perowne?" "He is not fit to leave at present," said Grey, shaking her head. "Then I suppose we must stay," said the doctor, parting from Grey with quite a parent's solicitude; and then he stood watching her as she went beneath the shady trees. "That little lassie is fretting about one of those chaps," said the doctor; "I'll be bound she is. She wouldn't turn pale and red, and grow thin and weak, because Helen Perowne has disappeared. I wonder whether it's big Chumbley. Well, we shall see. Now about my projects." He walked slowly homeward and entered the snug cottage-like place, which was the very pattern of primness, and day by day grew more like to the place where he had first set eyes upon his wife. "Seems precious dull without the little woman," he muttered; "but I suppose I mustn't grumble as she's away to do good to others." He thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked up and down the room. "Dear, dear me," he said, impatiently; "a man, especially a doctor, can't go on bemoaning people for ever. Where would science be if he did? Of course I'm very sorry about poor old Arthur, though after all perhaps he'll turn up all right, with his vasculum full of new orchids. Here's time galloping away, weeks and months and years, and I never get a bit nearer to the solution of my problem. Here am I, as I may say, right upon the very spot, and yet I do nothing whatever to prove that this is the place to which King Solomon sent to find his gold, and apes, and peacocks."