"I believe we old people are better fitted for nurses, my dear Julia. Your alarm, perhaps, would be greater than my own upon any emergency, but an old head is more used to critical situations. My dearest love, will you accompany our friends into the sitting-room, and then join us; you will be very anxious to see the effect of my old-fashioned remedies. My dear Sir John, I will see you again to arrange our drive." Lord Ennismore quitted the breakfast-room with a look of real dejection. His valet, who had been summoned, followed his lordship, as he leaned upon the arm of the Countess. Her implied suspicions had taken such deep root in the weak mind of her son, that his imagination led him to believe he was seriously ill. His lordship walked softly, with the air of a person who felt assured he had been suddenly seized with an alarming and painful malady: his person shrunk into greater insignificance, his eye wore a more heavy expression--he was the perfect illustration of Molière's "Malade Imaginaire," as he walked gently across the grandly-proportioned apartment. What a creature to possess a wife so lovely as Julia, and to be the representative of the earldom of Ennismore! to own the baronial halls of Bedinfield, and write himself a man! Sir John Wetheral would not let Julia depart when they entered the sitting-room. He made her take a seat by his side upon the sofa, and he held her hand, while he gazed fondly upon her. Julia smiled, and asked him "if he was examining the hectic appearances upon _her_ cheek." "No, my child, here are no symptoms of green and yellow melancholy; you look well, Julia, therefore, you _must_ be happy." "Yes, papa, I am indeed happy. Lady Ennismore spoils me, and will not let me stir from her side, 'lest the winds of heaven should blow too roughly on my cheek.' She is all kindness." "And Lord Ennismore is indulgent, Julia, and makes you happy?" "I wish he would not take so much medicine, papa; otherwise, he never contradicts me in anything. I cannot think it wholesome to take such a quantity of medicine. The Countess encourages him, I think." "You love him, Julia?" "Yes, pretty well, papa. Mamma told me I should like him better and better every day, when I was once married, but I can't say that is quite the case. I like Lord Ennismore, though: he never offends me, except in the quantity of pills and powders. I don't like him _better_, but then I don't think I like him worse." "You are anxious to visit Wetheral again, my love?" "Indeed, papa, I am. I want to find out why my friends have been silent. Mamma has behaved very ill: she has never written me a line, though I addressed her every month. I can't imagine what my friends are made of. The Countess warned me of all this." "What can Lady Ennismore prophecy, who is so distantly known to your friends, Julia?"