"Good gracious, yes," cried the hearty-natured surgeon, utterly unconscious that it could be of particular moment to anybody present whether she had or not. "I'd answer for it with my life, nearly. She's as nice a young lady as I'd ever wish to attend; and good too." "For Lucy's sake, I'll go on; for his sake, standing there in his shame," thought Miss Blake, in her rectitude. "Better things may come of it: otherwise I'd drop the hateful subject for ever." "Mr. Moore," she continued aloud, "Why do you say the husband is in London?" "Because Mrs. Grey said something to that effect," he answered. "At least, I understood her words to imply as much; but she was very ill at the moment, and I did not question further. It was when I was first called in." "It has hitherto been represented that Mr. Grey was travelling abroad," pursued Miss Blake, with a tone and a stress on the "Mr. Grey." "I know it has. But he may have returned. I am sure she said she had been up to London two or three weeks ago--and I thought she meant to imply that she went to meet her husband. It may have been a false conclusion I drew; but I certainly thought it." Sir Karl took a step forward. "I can answer for it that Mrs. Grey did go up," he said, "for I chanced to travel in the same carriage with her. Getting into the up-train at the station one day, I found Mrs. Grey seated there." Lucy glanced towards him as he spoke. There was no embarrassment in his countenance; his voice was easy and open as though he had spoken of a stranger. Her own face looked white as death. "You did!" cried the doctor. "Did she tell you she was going up to meet Mr. Grey?" "No, she did not. I put her into a cab at the terminus, and that's all I know about it. It was broiling hot, I remember." "Well," resumed the doctor, "whether it was to meet her husband or whether not, to London she went for a day or two in the broiling heat--as Sir Karl aptly terms it--and she managed to fatigue herself so much that she has not been able to recover it, and has been very unwell ever since. This young gentleman, who chose to take upon himself to make his appearance in the world yesterday, was not due for a good couple of months to come." Lucy rose and left the room, she and her white face. Karl followed her with his eyes: he had seen the whiteness. "Is it a healthy child?" he asked. "Quite so," replied the surgeon; "but very small. The worst of these little monkeys is, you can't send them back again with a whipping, when they make too much haste, and tell them to come again at proper time. Mrs. Grey's very ill." "Is she?" cried Karl. "Yes. And there's no nurse and no anything; matters are all at sixes and sevens." "I hope she'll do well!" breathed Karl. "So do I." Miss Blake looked at the two speakers. The one seemed just as open as the other. She thought what a finished adept Karl Andinnian was getting to be in deception.