id the doctor, presenting Miss Gwilt. "This lady
only arrived late last night; and she takes the present opportunity (the
only one my morning's engagements have allowed me to give her) of going
over the Sanitarium.--Allow me, ma'am," he went on, releasing Miss
Gwilt, and giving his arm to the eldest lady among the visitors.
"Shattered nerves--domestic anxiety," he whispered, confidentially.
"Sweet woman! sad case!" He sighed softly, and led the old lady across
the hall.

The flock of visitors followed, Miss Gwilt accompanying them in silence,
and walking alone--among them, but not of them--the last of all.

"The grounds, ladies and gentlemen," said the doctor, wheeling round,
and addressing his audience from the foot of the stairs, "are, as you
have seen, in a partially unfinished condition. Under any circumstances,
I should lay little stress on the grounds, having Hampstead Heath so
near at hand, and carriage exercise and horse exercise being parts of
my System. In a lesser degree, it is also necessary for me to ask
your indulgence for the basement floor, on which we now stand. The
waiting-room and study on that side, and the Dispensary on the other
(to which I shall presently ask your attention), are completed. But the
large drawing-room is still in the decorator's hands. In that room (when
the walls are dry--not a moment before) my inmates will assemble for
cheerful society. Nothing will be spared that can improve, elevate, and
adorn life at these happy little gatherings. Every evening, for example,
there will be music for those who like it."

At this point there was a faint stir among the visitors. A mother of a
family interrupted the doctor. She begged to know whether music "every
evening" included Sunday evening; and, if so, what music was performed?

"Sacred music, of course, ma'am," said the doctor. "Handel on Sunday
evening--and Haydn occasionally, when not too cheerful. But, as I was
about to say, music is not the only entertainment offered to my nervous
inmates. Amusing reading is provided for those who prefer books."

There was another stir among the visitors. Another mother of a family
wished to know whether amusing reading meant novels.

"Only such novels as I have selected and perused myself, in the first
instance," said the doctor. "Nothing painful, ma'am! There may be plenty
that is painful in real life; but for that very reason, we don't want it
in books. The English novelist who enters my house (