Just on the instant of her addressing him, saying: "Father," a note of seriousness in his ear, it struck her that the occasion for saying all had not yet arrived, and she quickly interposed: "Papa"; and helped him to look lighter. The petition to be taken away was uttered. "To London?" said Dr. Middleton. "I don't know who'll take us in." "To France, papa?" "That means hotel-life." "Only for two or three weeks." "Weeks! I am under an engagement to dine with Mrs Mountstuart Jenkinson five days hence: that is, on Thursday." "Could we not find an excuse?" "Break an engagement? No, my dear, not even to escape drinking a widow's wine." "Does a word bind us?" "Why, what else should?" "I think I am not very well." "We'll call in that man we met at dinner here: Corney: a capital doctor; an old-fashioned anecdotal doctor. How is it you are not well, my love? You look well. I cannot conceive your not being well." "It is only that I want change of air, papa." "There we are--a change! semper eadem! Women will be wanting a change of air in Paradise; a change of angels too, I might surmise. A change from quarters like these to a French hotel would be a descent!--'this the seat, this mournful gloom for that celestial light.' I am perfectly at home in the library here. That excellent fellow Whitford and I have real days: and I like him for showing fight to his elder and better." "He is going to leave." "I know nothing of it, and I shall append no credit to the tale until I do know. He is headstrong, but he answers to a rap." Clara's bosom heaved. The speechless insurrection threatened her eyes. A South-west shower lashed the window-panes and suggested to Dr. Middleton shuddering visions of the Channel passage on board a steamer.