"Special or general," said Aunt Sophia dogmatically, "any undertaking that pays more than five per cent, is either exceptionally fortunate or exceptionally dishonest. Take my advice, Mr Prayle, and if ever you have any spare cash to invest, put it in consols. The interest is low, but it is sure, and whenever you want your money you can get it in an hour without waiting for settling days. There, as you are so soon going, I will say good-morning and good-bye." She held out her hand, which was taken with a great show of respect, and then they parted. "The old girl is cunning," said Arthur Prayle to himself; "but she will bite, and I shall land her yet." "Ugh! How I do hate that smooth, dark, unpleasant man!" said Aunt Sophia, hurrying up to her bedroom. "He always puts me in mind of a slimy snake." Moved by this idea, Aunt Sophia carefully washed her hands in two different waters, and even went so far as to smell her right hand afterwards, in happy ignorance of the fact that snakes are not slimy, but have skins that are tolerably dry and clean. So she sniffed in an angry kind of way at the hand she washed, though its scent was only that of old brown Windsor soap, which had for the time being, in her prejudiced mind, become an odour symbolical of deceit and all that was base and bad. "Ah!" she exclaimed, after another good rub, and another sniff; "that's better now." An hour later, the doctor, Prayle, and Mr Saxby had taken their leave, the last fully under the impression that he had lost a very excellent client. "Most pragmatical old lady," he said to the doctor. "Well, she has all the crotchets of an old maid," said Scales. "Ought to have married thirty or forty years ago. I don't dislike her though." "Humph! I didn't, yesterday, Doctor Scales," said Saxby; "to-day, I'm afraid I do. How she could ever have had such a niece!" Prayle looked up quickly. "Ah, it does seem curious," said the doctor with a dry look of amusement on his countenance. "Would it not be more correct to say, one wonders that the young lady could ever have had such an aunt?" "Eh? Yes! Of course you are right," said Mr Saxby, nodding. "Or, no! Oh, no! That won't do, you know. Impossible. I was right. Eh? No; I was not. Tut--tut! how confusing these relationships are." Mr Saxby discoursed upon stocks right through the journey up; and Mr Prayle either assumed to, or really did go to sleep, only awakening to take an effusive farewell of his companions at the terminus; while Saxby, to the doctor's discomposure, took his arm, saying, "I'm going your way," and walked by his side, talking of the weather, till, turning suddenly, he said: "I say: fair play's a jewel, doctor. Are we both-- eh?--Miss Naomi?" "What, I?--thinking of her? My dear sir, no!" "Thank you, doctor. First time I'm ill, I'll come to you. That's a load off my mind!" "But really, Mr Saxby, you should have asked Mr Prayle that question."