"Hartley!" said Mary reprovingly. "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the doctor. "Jealous. Never mind, old fellow. It'll all come right in the end. There, can't stop. I've no end to do." "But how did you get on in London?" "Splendidly. Horribly. No end of adventures. Tell you all about it when I come again. Must see patients now. Must wind up old Moredock, and set him going again, or no bells, no clock, and no `Amens' on Sunday." "Well, we could do without the last," said the curate, smiling. "Going to see Mrs Berens?" The doctor made a comical grimace. "Must," he said; "but, 'pon my word, I always feel ashamed to charge for my visits. She's as well as you are, Miss Salis." "But she's always better when you've been to feel her pulse," said the curate, laughing. "Get out!" cried the doctor merrily. "I say, North, don't be shabby." "What do you mean?" "Don't slip off, and be married in London. Have it here, and let me get my fees." "Now, beware," said the doctor, shaking his fist playfully. "I never have slain a man wilfully; but if you tempt me there's no knowing what I may do when I have you stretched helpless in bed." "I defy you," cried the curate, laughing. "See how guilty he looks, Mary." "Hartley!" said Mary reprovingly, and she pressed his shoulder. "Now that proves it," said the doctor. "Go to, thou miserable impostor! Have I not seen the fair, plump, sweet widow smiling softly on thee? Have not I heard her sigh over her soup when you have been laying down the law at dinner?" "Nonsense, nonsense!" said the curate, frowning. "And have I not seen her look grave when you came to _firstly_ in your Sunday sermon; take out her scent-bottle at _secondly_; lean back in rapt adoration at _thirdly_; and when it got to _ninthly_ begin to shed tears, shake her head softly, and look as if she were mentally saying, `Oh, what a sermon we have had.'" "I say, North, don't banter," said the curate, with a half-vexed expression. "Why, you hit me first. Didn't he, Miss Salis?" Mary nodded. "There, sir. Judged by our fair Portia herself. But I must go. Good-bye, old fellow. Chess to-night?" "By all means," said the curate. "Here or there?" "Oh, come on here," cried the curate; and, with a kindly message for Leo and a hearty shake of the hand to each, the doctor hurried away. "I am glad he's back," said the curate seriously. "Aren't you, Mary?" "Very," she replied. "We miss our friends." "Yes, and he is a good old fellow as ever stepped; so frank, so manly, and straightforward. I don't know what the poor people here would do if he were to leave." "You don't think he will leave?" said Mary anxiously. "Leave? Not he. He likes his old home too well. I say, though, seriously, dear, you don't think he cares for Mrs Berens?" "Oh, no, Hartley," said Mary, with a confident smile. "I am sure he thinks of nothing but his profession." "Exactly. I often think the same, but I often wish something."