Thus the doctor’s expectations were put a final end to, so far as Jan went—­and very certain expectations they had, no doubt, been.  As to Jan, a thought may have crossed him that the doctor and his daughter Sibylla appeared to have the same propensity for getting out of money.  Dr. West recovered his equanimity, and magnanimously waived the affair as a trifle not worth dwelling on.

“How does Cheese get on?” he asked.

“First rate—­in the eating line,” replied Jan.

“Have you got him out of his idleness yet?”

“It would take a more clever man than I to do that, doctor.  It’s constitutional.  When he goes up to London, in the autumn, I shall take an assistant:  unless you should be coming home yourself.”

“I have no intention of it at present, Mr. Jan.  Am I to understand you that Sibylla has serious symptoms of disease?”

“There’s no doubt of it,” said Jan.  “You always prophesied it for her, you know.  When she was at Verner’s Pride she was continually ailing:  not a week passed but I was called in to attend her.  She was so imprudent too—­she would be.  Going out and getting her feet wet; sitting up half the night.  We tried to bring her to reason; but it was of no use.  She defied Lionel; she would not listen to me—­as well speak to a post.”

“Why should she defy her husband?  Are they on bad terms?”

“They are on as good terms as any man and wife could be, Sibylla being the wife,” was Jan’s rejoinder.  “You know something of her temper and disposition, doctor—­it is of no use to mince matters—­you remember how it had used to be with her here at home.  Lionel’s a husband in a thousand.  How he can possibly put up with her, and be always patient and kind, puzzles me more than any problem ever did in Euclid.  If Fred had lived—­why, he’d have broken her spirit or her heart long before this.”

Dr. West rose and stretched himself.  The failings of Sibylla were not a pleasant topic, thus openly mentioned by Jan; but none knew better than the doctor how true were the grounds on which he spoke.  None knew better, either, that disease for her was to be feared.

“Her sisters went off about this age, or a little later,” he said musingly.  “I could not save them.”

“And Sibylla’s as surely going after them, doctor, as that I am here,” returned Jan.  “Lionel intends to call in Dr. Hayes to her.”

“Since when has she been so ill?”

“Not since any time in particular.  There appears to be no real illness yet—­only symptoms.  She coughs, and gets as thin as a skeleton.  Sometimes I think, if she could call up a cheerful temper, she’d keep well.  You will see what you think of her.”

The doctor walked towards the bureau at the far corner.  “Have you ever opened it, Mr. Jan?”

“It’s not likely,” said Jan.  “Didn’t you tell me not to open it?  Your own papers are in it, and you hold the key.”