Ovid smiled--not cheerfully. "Do you think my poor mother would be in a
state of indescribable agitation if there was _not_ money?"

Sir Richard was one of those obsolete elderly persons who quote
Shakespeare. "Ah, well," he said, "your mother is like Kent in King
Lear--she's too old to learn. Is she as fond as ever of lace? and as
keen as ever after a bargain?" He handed a card out of the carriage
window. "I have just seen an old patient of mine," he resumed, "in whom
I feel a friendly interest. She is retiring from business by my advice;
and she asks me, of all the people in the world, to help her in getting
rid of some wonderful 'remnants,' at 'an alarming sacrifice!' My kind
regards to your mother--and there's a chance for her. One last word,
Ovid. Don't be in too great a hurry to return to work; you have plenty
of spare time before you. Look at my wise dog here, on the front seat,
and learn from him to be idle and happy."

The great physician had another companion, besides his dog. A friend,
bound his way, had accepted a seat in the carriage. "Who is that
handsome young man?" the friend asked as they drove away.

"He is the only son of a relative of mine, dead many years since," Sir
Richard replied. "Don't forget that you have seen him."

"May I ask why?"

"He has not yet reached the prime of life; and he is on the
way--already far on the way--to be one of the foremost men of his time.
With a private fortune, he has worked as few surgeons work who have
their bread to get by their profession. The money comes from his late