“He is Cecilia’s brother, Frederick!” cries the lady. “Conf——” Lovel was beginning. What was he about to say? “If you are going to confound your angel in heaven, I have nothing to say, sir!” cries the mother of Clarence. “_Parbleu, madame!_” cried Lovel, in French; “if he were not my wife’s brother, do you think I would let him stay here?” “_Parly Français? Oui, oui, oui!_” cries Pop. “I know what Pa means!” “And so do _I_ know. And I shall lend uncle Clarence some books which Mr. Bonnington gave me, and——” “Hold your tongue all!” shouts Lovel, with a stamp of his foot. “You will, perhaps, have the great kindness to allow me the use of your carriage—or, at least, to wait here until my poor suffering boy can be moved, Mr. Lovel?” says Lady B., with the airs of a martyr. Lovel rang the bell. “The carriage for Lady Baker—at her ladyship’s hour, Bedford: and the cart for her luggage. Her ladyship and Captain Baker are going away.” “I have lost one child, Mr. Lovel, whom some people seem to forget. I am not going to murder another! I will not leave this house, sir, _unless you drive me from it by force_, until the medical man has seen my boy!” And here she and sorrow sat down again. She was always giving warning. She was always fitting the halter and traversing the cart, was Lady B., but she for ever declined to drop the handkerchief and have the business over. I saw by a little shrug in Bessy’s shoulders, what the governess’s views were of the matter: and, in a word, Lady B. no more went away on this day, than she had done on forty previous days when she announced her intention of going. She would accept benefits, you see, but then she insulted her benefactors, and so squared accounts. That great healthy, florid, scarlet-whiskered, medical wretch came at about twelve, saw Mr. Baker and prescribed for him: and _of course_ he must have a few words with Miss Prior, and inquire into the state of her health. Just as on the previous occasion, I happened to be in the hall when Drencher went upstairs; Bedford happened to be looking out of his pantry-door: I burst into a yell of laughter when I saw Dick’s livid face—the sight somehow suited my savage soul. No sooner was Medicus gone, when Bessy, grave and pale, in bonnet and spectacles, came sliding downstairs. I do not mean down the banister, which was Pop’s favourite method of descent, but slim, tall, noiseless, in a nunlike calm, she swept down the steps. Of course, I followed her. And there was Master Bedford’s nose peeping through the pantry-door at us, as we went out with the children. Pray, what business of _his_ was it to be always watching anybody who walked with Miss Prior? “So, Bessy,” I said, “what report does Mr.—hem!—Mr. Drencher—give of the interesting invalid?”