"I am aware it is rather laborious," said Staines, a little dryly; "but
to oblige your father!"

"Oh, anything to oblige papa," said she, spitefully. "There! And I do
hope it will be the last--la! no; I don't hope that, neither."

Dr. Staines politely ignored her little attempts to interrupt the
argument. "You found, sir, that the muscles of my waist, and my
intercostal ribs themselves, rose and fell with each inhalation and
exhalation of air by the lungs."

"I did; but my daughter's waist was like dead wood, and so were her
lower ribs."

At this volunteer statement, Rosa colored to her temples. "Thanks, papa!
Pack me off to London, and sell me for a big doll!"

"In other words," said the lecturer, mild and pertinacious, "with us the
lungs have room to blow, and the whole bony frame expands elastic
with them, like the woodwork of a blacksmith's bellows; but with this
patient, and many of her sex, that noble and divinely framed bellows is
crippled and confined by a powerful machine of human construction; so it
works lamely and feebly: consequently too little air, and of course too
little oxygen, passes through that spongy organ whose very life is air.
Now mark the special result in this case: being otherwise healthy and
vigorous, our patient's system sends into the lungs more blood than that
one crippled organ can deal with; a small quantity becomes extravasated
at odd times; it accumulates, and would become dangerous; then Nature,
strengthened by sleep, and by some hours' relief from the diabolical
engine, makes an effort and flings it off: that is why the hemorrhage