The captain turned an imploring eye, first towards his cousin, then
towards the parson.

"I 'm engaged to dine with my son--very sorry," said the squire. "But
Dale, here--"

"If he will be so kind," put in the captain, "we might cheer the evening
with a game at whist,--double dummy." Now, poor Mr. Dale had set his
heart on dining with an old college friend, and having no stupid, prosy
double dummy, in which one cannot have the pleasure of scolding one's
partner, but a regular orthodox rubber, with the pleasing prospect of
scolding all the three other performers. But as his quiet life forbade
him to be a hero in great things, the parson had made up his mind to be a
hero in small ones. Therefore, though with rather a rueful face, he
accepted the captain's invitation, and promised to return at six o'clock
to dine. Meanwhile he must hurry off to the other end of the town, and
excuse himself from the pre-engagement he had already formed. He now
gave his card, with the address of a quiet family hotel thereon, to
Leonard, and not looking quite so charmed with Dr. Morgan as he was
before that unwelcome prescription, he took his leave. The squire too,
having to see a new churn, and execute various commissions for his Harry,
went his way (not, however, till Dr. Morgan had assured him that, in a
few weeks, the captain might safely remove to Hazeldean); and Leonard was
about to follow, when Morgan hooked his arm in his old /protege/, and
said, "But I must have some talk with you; and you have to tell me all
about the little orphan girl."

Leonard could not resist the pleasure of talking about Helen; and he got
into the carriage, which was waiting at the door for the homoeopathist.