"Oh, don't be so severe, Mary. I was poorly yesterday--a little hysterical--the weather; and I sent for Dr North." "Yes." "He came, dear, and no medical man could have been nicer than he was at first; but all at once he seemed to change--to become as if he were two people!" "Mrs Berens!" "Yes, dear. I did not know what to make of him. He was like one possessed, my dear!" "Mrs Berens!" "Yes, dear; it's quite true. One minute he was sympathetic and kind, and the next laughing at and bantering me in a strange tone." "You must be mistaken." "No, my dear. He told me it was all nonsense, and that I was as hearty as a brick. What an expression to use to a lady! And then he apologised, and spoke calmly, giving me excellent advice." Mary wiped the dew from her white forehead. "And then, my dear," continued Mrs Berens, "directly after he called me his pretty buxom widow. I felt as if I should sink through the floor with indignant shame." "Are you not mistaken, Mrs Berens?" said Mary, whose voice grew tremulous and almost inaudible. "Mistaken, my dear? Oh, no; that is what he said; and then he seemed to feel ashamed of it, and I saw him colour up." "It seems impossible," muttered Mary; and then she recalled her brother's words, and a hand seemed to clutch her heart. "Of course," continued Mrs Berens, "I could not order him to leave the house; I could only look at him indignantly." "And he apologised?" said Mary eagerly. "Apologised? No, my dear; he made matters worse by his low bantering-- chaff, young men call it--till my face burned, and I felt so shocked that I was ready to burst into tears. For I always did like Dr North. Such a straightforward, gentlemanly man. You always felt such confidence in him." Mary looked at her wildly. "Oh, no, my dear," continued her visitor, taking her look as a question; "nothing of the kind. I should have smelt him directly. He kissed me. He had not been drinking. And it's so horrible, for I could never call him in again." "Hush!" whispered Mary. "Pray don't speak of it before my brother." "Before your brother! Oh, no, my dear. I should sink with shame. But why did you say that?" "Because he might come in, and I must think about it all before I mention it to him." "But--but Mr Salis--" "My brother is not out." "Not out? I understood your maid to say he had gone to the church," cried Mrs Berens, starting up in alarm. She was too late, for directly after Salis entered, with the presentation surplice over his arm. Some one turned red in the face. It may have been Mrs Berens, or it may have been Salis; and, in either case, the colour was reflected. Certainly both looked warm. Salis was the first to recover his equanimity and greet the visitor. "I did not know you had company, Mary," he said. "I was going to ask you to alter the buttons at the neck of this. It is too tight."