"What are they?" "If she has a sound knowledge of the heathen mythology, and a smattering of the Bible, she'll do very well." "But she won't talk about the Bible," laughed papa; "people who like it, read it to themselves." "Very true," said Doctor Droqville, "you never mention it; but, quite unconsciously, you are perpetually alluding to it. Nothing strikes a stranger more, if he understands your language as I do. You had a note from Lady Lorrimer?" "No," said mamma. The word "note," I think, struck papa as implying that she was nearer than letter-writing distance, and he glanced quickly at Doctor Droqville. "And where is Lady Lorrimer now?" asked papa. "That is what I came to tell you. She is at Mivart's. I told her you were in town, and I fancied you would have had a note from her; but I thought I might as well look in and tell you." "She's quite well, I hope?" said mamma. "Now did you ever, Mrs. Ware, in all your life, see her quite well? I never did. She would lose all pleasure in life, if she thought she wasn't leaving it. She arrived last night, and summoned me to her at ten this morning. I felt her pulse. It was horribly regular. She had slept well, and breakfasted well, but that was all. In short, I found her suffering under her usual chronic attack of good health, and, as the case was not to be trifled with, I ordered her instantly some medicine which could not possibly produce any effect whatever; and in that critical state I left her, with a promise to look in again in the afternoon to ascertain that the more robust symptoms were not gaining ground, and in the interval I came to see you and tell you all about it." "I suppose, then, I should find her in her bed?" said mamma. "No; I rather think she has postponed dying till after dinner--she ordered a very good one--and means to expire in her sitting-room, where you'll find her. And you have not been very well?" "Remember the story he has just told you of your aunt Lorrimer, and take care he doesn't tell her the same story of you," said papa, laughing. "I wish I could," said Doctor Droqville; "few things would please me better. That pain in the nerves of the head is a very real torment." So he and mamma talked over her head-aches in an undertone for some minutes; and while this was going on there came in a note for mamma. The servant was was waiting for an answer in the hall. "Shall I read it?" said papa, holding it up by the corner. "It is Lady Lorrimer's, I'm sure." "Do, dear," said mamma, and she continued her confidences in Doctor Droqville's ear. Papa smiled a little satirically as he read it. He threw it across the table, saying: "You can read it, Ethel; it concerns you rather." I was very curious. The hand was youthful and pretty, considering Lady Lorrimer's years. It was a whimpering, apathetic, selfish little note. She was miserable, she said, and had quite made up her mind that she could not exist in London smoke. She had sent for the doctor.