‘Why does Miss Sewell dress in that absurd way?’ ‘You mustn’t speak disrespectfully of my friend, sir,’ said Laura. ‘But dear Alice was always given to fancies. First she was learned and literary; then she was a regular athlete--she nearly ruined her health, trying to walk from London to Bath in two days--or five days, I forget which. Then she became original and classical, and slightly æsthetic. Next time I see her, she is sure to be something different.’ It was rather a tiresome afternoon for Alec; but it came to an end at last. ‘What a handsome cousin you have, Laura!’ said Alice Sewell to her friend in the privacy of her bedroom that afternoon. ‘Do you think so? I never thought of Mr. Semple as particularly handsome.’ ‘I don’t mean that fat, disagreeable-looking creature, you stupid girl! I mean the tall one, Mr. Alec Lindsay. He has beautiful eyes, and such a strong, independent way of speaking.’ ‘What a curious girl you are, Alice! I thought he would have been far too unconventional for you.’ ‘Don’t you like him?’ asked Alice in reply. ‘Yes,’ said Laura, in a hesitating way. She was on the point of telling her friend that she had had Alec at her feet; but she refrained. ‘They are both in love with you,’ said Alice tranquilly. ‘Which do you mean to take?’ ‘I’m afraid it must be the other one,’ said Laura, turning away with a little sigh. ‘Why?’ ‘Oh, Alec has so little sense. He might have been his uncle’s heir, I believe; and he has simply neglected his interests. He will always be a poor man.’ And the girl sighed again. ‘And this Mr. Semple?’ ‘Oh, he is pretty sure to be rich.’ ‘Don’t decide too hastily, Laura, my dear,’ said the elder girl. And Laura smiled, as much as to say that she perfectly understood the situation, and felt quite competent to direct her own affairs. And in holding this opinion she only did herself justice. CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW OF DEATH. As the weeks went by, Mr. James Lindsay grew slowly more feeble. He was no longer able to go out of doors, and he seldom left his room. He became more querulous and more capricious; and this disposition blinded his friends to his real danger. But Dr. Sheepshanks saw the truth. He saw, also, that his patient had no idea that he was drawing very near the end of his life. And when a chance remark made the doctor aware that the old man had not yet made his will, he thought it was his duty to tell Miss Lindsay what the state of things really was. ‘Danger!’ she exclaimed, startled and shocked by the doctor’s words; ‘it’s not possible!’ ‘I am afraid there is no doubt of it, my dear madam.’ ‘But he’s not an old man--not to say old. His father lived to ninety-three; and two of his uncles were past eighty.’ Dr. Sheepshanks only shook his head, with a grave professional smile. ‘I never thought there was muckle wrang wi’ him.’