The doctor paused majestically, and not remarking on Leonard's face the
consternation he had anticipated, he repeated peevishly, "I am going
abroad, sir, but I will make a synopsis of your case, and leave it to my
successor. Hum!

"Hair chestnut; eyes--what colour? Look this way,--blue, dark blue.
Hem! Constitution nervous. What are the symptoms?"

"Sir," began Leonard, "a little girl--"

DR. MORGAN (impatiently).--"Little girl; never mind the history of your
sufferings; stick to the symptoms,--stick to the symptoms."

LEONARD.--"YOU mistake me, Doctor, I have nothing the matter with me. A
little girl--"

DR. MORGAN.--"Girl again! I understand! it is she who is ill. Shall I
go to her? She must describe her own symptoms,--I can't judge from your
talk. You'll be telling me she has consumption, or dyspepsia, or some
such disease that don't exist: mere allopathic inventions,--symptoms,
sir, symptoms."

LEONARD (forcing his way).--"You attended her poor father, Captain Digby,
when he was taken ill in the coach with you. He is dead, and his child
is an orphan."

DR. MORGAN (fumbling in his medical pocket-book).--"Orphan! nothing for
orphans, especially if inconsolable, like aconite and chamomilla."