situated in Lincoln's Inn Fields which everybody knows (who knows
anything of London) is a large, airy space, surrounded with iron
railings, wherein there are plenty of trees, flowers, grasses, and
gravel walks to stroll about in, all of which could be seen from his
chamber window. But this was not sufficient for him. He wanted something
more suburban and evidently considered the atmosphere north of Oxford
street more conducive to his health, or he would never have imposed upon
himself the task of walking from Lincoln's Inn so far westward up Harley
Street. Yet, although the air must have been more pure some half a mile
further on, he never by any chance, succeeded in getting beyond No. 54.

There was also another gentleman who found it convenient and agreeable
to walk in the same direction and stop at the same house. This for some
time perplexed our friend, Tom, and gave him considerable uneasiness in
the region of the heart. His first business was to discover who he was;
this did not take long to accomplish, but he was more puzzled than ever;
there was no one ill at No. 54, and the gentleman turned out to be a
physician of good standing, residing in Cavendish Square. He dared not
speak to Kate on the subject, for fear of committing himself and
becoming exposed to that little lady's raillery, for he well knew that
she would torment him unmercifully if he betrayed the least sign of
jealousy. Wishing to be satisfied on a point that so troubled him, he
determined to sound his aunt on the matter. He was a great favourite
with her, and she was not likely to betray him to his lady love.

"Very quiet, gentlemanly sort of person, Doctor Ashburnham; don't you
think so," he enquired of his aunt one evening, as they were seated
alone in the drawing room on Harley Street?

"It is well that you are that way of thinking, for he has the same