"What, brother to that Miss Janet who comes here?" cried Poynter eagerly. "The same; but that was years ago." "And he's abroad, isn't he?" "He went to the Cape--to seek his fortune," said the doctor gravely; "but he has not been heard of now for two years." "Dead, safe!" said Poynter, drawing a breath full of relief. "I'm afraid so." "Afraid?" "It would be sad if the young man had ended his career like that." "Of course. But they weren't engaged?" "Certainly not, Mr Poynter." "And you've no objection to me, doctor?" "N-no--I--that is, Mr Poynter, I look upon this as a matter for my daughter to decide." "Of course, doctor. Well, I'll just finish my cigar and grog, and then I'll go and put it to her, plump and plain; and, as I said before, it'll be a fine day's work for us all." The doctor sighed. "I say, you know," continued his visitor, with the wrinkles coming about his eyes, "it was all a dodge of mine." "I beg your pardon." "There wasn't anything the matter with me when I came." "Nothing whatever," said the doctor, nodding acquiescence. "What! you knew that?" "Of course I did. I looked upon it as all imaginary." "But you took the fees, doctor?" said the young man, laughing. "You took up my time." "But I say, doctor, isn't that too bad?" "Not at all. My dear sir, the medical profession. Won't I be a poor one if we had no patients with imaginary ills. We treat them; they think we do them good; and they grow better. Surely we earn our fees." "Oh, but, doctor," said the young man jocularly, "why not honestly tell them they are all right, instead of taking their coin?" "Because if we did they would not believe us, and would go to some other medical man." "Then you knew I was all right?" "Certainly I did." "And made me up that wretched physic to take." "You would not have been satisfied without." "Ah, well," said the young man, with a chuckle which resulted in his wiping his eyes with his highly scented handkerchief, "I never took a drop." "I know that too," said the doctor. "Ah, well; we understand one another now, and I'd better go." James Poynter, however, seemed to be in no hurry to go, but sipped his brandy-and-water, smoked his cigar down to the throwing-away length, and then brought out from his vest-pocket an amber and meerschaum mouthpiece, tipped with gold, into which he fitted the wet end of the cigar, and smoked till he could smoke no longer, when he rose, flush-faced, and with the dew upon his forehead. "I suppose I must go and get it done, doctor," he said; "but it's rather a--well, it makes a man feel--I say, doctor, what is there in a pretty woman that makes a man feel half afraid of her, like?" "I told you, Mr Poynter, a short time back, that I did not understand women," said the doctor gravelly. "I cannot tell. Say Nature's heaven-gift for her defence."