dame Vine," she said, "you will be ready at three o'clock to go in
with William?"

Lady Isabel's heart beat. "I understood you to say that you should go
with him yourself, madame."

"I know I did. I intended to do so, but I heard this morning that some
friends from a distance are coming this afternoon to call upon me,
therefore I shall not go out."

How she, Lady Isabel, wished that she dare say, also, "I shall not go
out either." But that might not be. Well, she must go through with it as
she had to go through with the rest.

William rode his pony into West Lynne, the groom attending to take it
back again. He was to walk home with Madame Vine, who walked both ways.

Mr. Carlyle was not in when they arrived at the office. The boy went
boldly on to the private room, leaving Madame Vine to follow him.

Presently Mr. Carlyle appeared. He was talking to Mr. Dill, who followed
him.

"Oh, you are here, Madame Vine! I left word that you were to go into
Miss Carlyle's. Did I not leave word, Dill?"

"Not with me, sir."

"I forgot it, then; I meant to do so. What is the time?" He looked at
his watch: ten minutes to four. "Did the doctor say at what hour he
should call?" Mr. Carlyle added to Madame Vine.

"Not precisely. I gathered that it would be very early in the
afternoon."

"Here he is!" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle with alacrity, as he went into the
hall. She supposed he alluded to the physician--supposed he had seen him
pass the window. Their entrance together woke up William.

"Well," said the doctor, who was a little man with a bald head, "and how
fares it with my young patient? _Bon jour_ madame."

"_Bon jour_, monsieur," responded she. She wished everybody would
address her in French, and take her for French; there seemed less chance
of recognition. She would have to speak in good plain English, however,
if she must carry on conversation with the doctor. Beyond a familiar
phrase or two, he was something like Justice Hare--_Nong parley Fronsay_
me!

"And how does the cod-liver oil get on?" asked the doctor of William, as
he drew him to the light. "It is nicer now than it used to be, eh?"

"No," said William; "it is nastier than ever."

Dr. Martin looked at the boy; felt his pulse, his skin, listened to his
breathing. "There," said he, presently, "you may sit down and have your
nap out."

"I wish I might have something to drink; I am very thirsty. May I ring
for some water, papa?"

"Go and find your aunt'