The Rector and The Doctor’s Family

and had watched the fluctuations of his wooing with such lively curiosity. Those patients who had paid for Dr. Rider’s disappointments in many a violent prescription, got compensation today in honeyed draughts and hopeful prognostications. Wherever the doctor went he saw a vision of that little drooping head, reposing, after all the agitation of the morning, in the silence and rest he had enjoined, with brilliant eyes, half-veiled, shining with thoughts in which he had the greatest share; and, with that picture before his eyes, went flashing along the wintry road with secret smiles, and carried hope wherever he went. Of course it was the merest fallacy, so far as Nettie’s immediate occupation was concerned. That restless little woman had twenty times too much to do to think of rest⁠—more to do than ever in all the suddenly-changed preparations which fell upon her busy hands. But the doctor kept his imagination all the same, and pleased himself with thoughts of her reposing in a visionary tranquillity, which, wherever it was to be found, certainly did not exist in St. Roque’s Cottage, in that sudden tumult of new events and hopes.

XVIII

“I always thought there was good in him by his looks,” said Miss Wodehouse, standing in the porch of St. Roque’s, after the wedding-party had gone away. “To think he should have come in such a sweet way and married Mrs. Fred! just what we all were wishing for, if we could have ventured to think it possible. Indeed, I should have liked to have given Mr. Chatham a little present, just to mark my sense of his goodness. Poor man! I wonder if he repents⁠—”

“It is to be hoped not yet,” said Lucy, hurrying her sister away before Mr. Wentworth could come out and join them; for affairs were seriously compromised between the perpetual curate and the object of his affections; and Lucy exhibited a certain acerbity under the circumstances which somewhat amazed the tenderhearted old maid.

“When people do repent, my belief is that they do it directly,” said Miss Wodehouse. “I daresay he can see what she is already, poor man; and I hope, Lucy, it won’t drive him into bad ways. As for Nettie, I am not at all afraid about her. Even if they should happen to quarrel, you know, things will always come right. I am glad they were not married both at the same time. Nettie has such sense! and of course, though it was the very best thing that could happen, and a great relief to everybody concerned, to be sure, one could not help being disgusted with that woman. And it is such a comfort they’re going away. Nettie says⁠—”

“Don’t you think you could walk a little quicker? there is somebody in Grove Street that I have to see,” said Lucy, not so much interested as her sister; “and papa will be home at one to lunch.”

“Then I shall go on, dear, if you have no objection, and ask when the doctor and Nettie are coming home,” said Miss Wodehouse, “and take poor little Freddy the cakes I promised him. Poor child! to have his mother go off and marry and leave him. Never mind me, Lucy, dear; I do not walk so quickly as you do, and besides I have to go home first for the cakes.”

So saying the sisters separated; and Miss Wodehouse took her gentle way to the doctor’s house, where everything had been brightened up, and where Freddy waited the return of his chosen guardians. It was still the new quarter of Carlingford, a region of half-built streets, vulgar new roads, and heaps of desolate brick and mortar. If the doctor had ever hoped to succeed Dr. Marjoribanks in his bowery retirement in Grange Lane, that hope nowadays had receded into the darkest distance. The little surgery round the corner still shed twinkles of red and blue light across that desolate triangle of unbuilt ground upon the other corner houses where dwelt people unknown to society in Carlingford, and still Dr. Rider consented to call himself M.R.C.S., and cultivate the patients who were afraid of a physician. Miss Wodehouse went in at the invitation of Mary to see the little drawing-room which the master of the house had provided for his wife. It had been only an unfurnished room in Dr. Rider’s bachelor days, and looked out upon nothing better than these same new streets⁠—the vulgar suburb which Carlingford disowned. Miss Wodehouse lingered at the window with a little sigh over the perversity of circumstances. If Miss Marjoribanks had only been Nettie, or Nettie Miss Marjoribanks! If not only love and happiness, but the old doctor’s practice and savings, could but have been brought to heap up the measure of the young doctor’s good-fortune! What a pity that one cannot have everything! The friendly visitor said so with a real sigh as she went downstairs after her inspection. If the young people had but been settling in Grange Lane, in good society, and with Dr. Marjoribanks’s practice, this marriage would have been perfection indeed!

But when the doctor brought Nettie home, and set her in that easy-chair which her image had possessed so long, he saw few drawbacks at that moment to the felicity of his lot. If there was one particular in which his sky threatened clouds, it was not the want of Dr. Marjoribanks’s practice, but the presence of that little interloper, whom the doctor in his heart was apt to call by uncomplimentary names, and did not regard with unmixed favour. But when Susan and her Australian were fairly gone, and all fear of any invasion of the other imps⁠—which Dr. Rider inly dreaded up to the last moment⁠—was over, Freddy grew more and more tolerable. Where Fred once lay and dozed, and filled the doctor’s house with heavy fumes and discreditable gossip, a burden on his brother’s reluctant hospitality, little Freddy now obliterated that dismal memory with prayers and slumbers of childhood; and