Lord Frogmore stayed for some days at Greenpark. He caught cold--quite a slight cold, not worth making any fuss about, if he had not taken such tremendous care of his health, Letitia said, scornfully. She said to her husband that she really could not pretend to coddle and take care of him for such a nothing--it would look as if she had a mercenary motive--as if she meant to wheedle him out of something for the children. John did not quite like this tone, for Frogmore was his own brother after all, and Letitia was only a Parke by marriage. But he said, “I don’t know why you should trouble when Miss Hill is here.” So this was how it ended. Mary was made over permanently to Lord Frogmore to amuse him. He did not want nursing. Rogers, his man, who knew exactly what to do in any emergency, took care of that. Rogers was so clever that he was half a doctor, having studied all his master’s ailments, and having in every possible combination of circumstances the right thing to administer. It filled Mrs. Parke with mingled consternation and awe to see all the precautions that were taken. “Why, he will never die,” she said to Mary. “His exercise and his food and every habit he has are like a doctor’s book. Felicie tells me such stories about his clothes; he is dressed by the thermometer, if you will believe me--and things put into his bath to strengthen him and brighten him up; and all kinds of preparations of food. It is Rogers’ whole work looking after him, day and night. What a cooking up of the poor body, Mary Hill! It’s against Scripture, and every law.” “But there’s nothing wrong in keeping one’s self well.” “Oh, well! it is not that--it is trying to get the better of Providence, not to speak of poor John and the children. What he means is never to die.”