Our young Doctor says nothing as the voice recedes; but he is obviously listening for the return walk along the deck. And here she comes again. "The patient drudgery of such a life is quite heroic—whether he is a man of science, working day and night to find out things for the good of the world, nobody thanking him or caring about him, or whether he is a physician in practice with not a minute that can be called his own—liable to be summoned at any hour——" The voice again becomes inaudible. It is remarked to this young man that Mary Avon seems to have a pretty high opinion of the medical profession. "She herself," he says hastily, with a touch of colour in his face, "has the patience and fortitude of a dozen doctors." Once more the light tread on deck comes near the skylight. "If I were the Government," says Mary Avon, warmly, "I should be ashamed to see so rich a country as England content to take her knowledge second-hand from the German Universities; while such men as Dr. Sutherland are harassed and hampered in their proper work by having to write articles and do ordinary doctor’s visiting. I should be ashamed. If it is a want of money, why don’t they pack off a dozen or two of the young noodles who pass the day whittling quills in the Foreign Office?——" Even when modified by the distance, and by the soft lapping of the water outside, this seems rather strong language for a young lady. Why should Miss Avon again insist in such a warm fashion on the necessity of endowing research? But Angus Sutherland’s face is burning red. Listeners are said to hear ill of themselves. "However, Dr. Sutherland is not likely to complain," she says, proudly, as she comes by again. "No; he is too proud of his profession. He does his work; and leaves the appreciation of it to others. And when everybody knows that he will one day be among the most famous men in the country, is it not monstrous that he should be harassed by drudgery in the meantime? If I were the Government——" But Angus Sutherland cannot suffer this to go on. He leaves his breakfast unfinished, passes along the saloon, and ascends the companion. "Good morning!" he says. "Why, are you up already?" his hostess says. "We have been walking as lightly as we could, for we thought you were both asleep. And Mary has been heaping maledictions on the head of the Government because it doesn’t subsidise all you microscope-men. The next thing she will want is a licence for the whole of you to be allowed to vivisect criminals." "I heard something of what Miss Avon said," he admitted. The girl, looking rather aghast, glanced at the open skylight. "We thought you were asleep," she stammered, and with her face somewhat flushed. "At least, I heard you say something about the Government," he said, kindly. "Well, all I ask from the Government is to give me a trip like this every summer." "What," says his hostess, "with a barometer that won’t fall?" "I don’t mind." "And seas like glass?"