“One thing is certain,” said she; “I shall send home orders that you shall be allowed no strong coffee at night, and that Busy Bee shall hide half the mountain of letters in the study.  But tell me honestly, Geoffrey, are you really well?”

“Perfectly, except for a growing disposition to yawn,” said her husband laughing.

“Well, what are the last accounts of the patient?”

“He is doing very well:  the last thing I did before coming away, was to lay him down on the sofa, with Retzsch’s outlines to look at:  so you may guess that he is coming on quickly.  I suppose you have brought down the books and prints?”

“Such a pile, that I almost expected my goods would be over weight.”

“It is very fortunate that he has a taste for this kind of thing:  only take care, they must not be at Henrietta’s discretion, or his own, or he will be overwhelmed with them,—­a very little oversets him, and might do great mischief.”

“You don’t think the danger of inflammation over yet, then?”

“O, no! his pulse is so very easily raised, that we are obliged to keep him very quiet, and nearly to starve him, poor fellow; and his appetite is returning so fast, that it makes it very difficult to manage him.”

“I should be afraid that now would be the time to see the effects of poor Mary’s over gentleness.”

“Yes; but what greatly increases the difficulty is that Fred has some strange prejudice against Philip Carey.”

Busy Bee, who had heard nothing of this, felt her cheeks flush, while her father proceeded.

“I do not understand it at all:  Philip’s manners in a sick room are particularly good—­much better than I should have expected, and he has been very attentive and gentle-handed; but, from the first, Fred has shown a dislike to him, questioned all his measures, and made the most of it whenever he was obliged to give him any pain.  The last time the London doctor was here, I am sure he hurt Fred a good deal more than Philip has ever done, yet the boy bore it manfully, though he shrinks and exclaims the moment Philip touches him.  Then he is always talking of wishing for old Clarke at Rocksand, and I give Mary infinite credit for never having proposed to send for him.  I used to think she had great faith in the old man, but I believe it was only her mother.”

“Of course it was.  It is only when Mary has to act alone that you really are obliged to perceive all her excellent sense and firmness; and I am very glad that you should be convinced now and then, that in nothing but her fears, poor thing, has she anything of the spoiling mamma about her.”

“As if I did not know that,” said he, smiling.

“And so she would not yield to this fancy?  Very wise indeed.  But I should like to know the reason of this dislike on Fred’s part.  Have you ever asked him?”

“No; he is not in a fit state for argument; and, besides, I think the prejudice would only be strengthened.  We have praised Philip again and again, before him, and said all we could think of to give him confidence in him, but nothing will do; in fact, I suspect Mr. Fred was sharp enough to discover that we were talking for a purpose.  It has been the great trouble this whole time, though neither Mary nor I have mentioned it, for fear of annoying my mother.”