me to prescribe for her, but she prefers to play with
pills herself. Has a remarkable voice, deep notes
now and again that thrill like the middle tones of
a 'cello; or might, if they said anything but 'Please
pass the butter!' If she were better tempered, I
should be tempted to send for you; you are simply
spoiling for some one to fall in love with, I can tell
that from your last letter. The pretty brunette had
not intellectuality enough, had she? My dear
fellow, as if that had anything to do with it! You
were not ready, that was all. You fall in love by
clockwork once every year; and it is time now. If
you should see the P. B. again to-morrow, you'd be
lost directly. As for me--I should think you
would be tired of asking. No, I am not in love.
No, I feel no inclination whatever to become so.
No, there is no 'charmer' (what vile expressions
you use, James; go back to the English Department,
and learn how to speak of Woman!) who interests
me in the least (except pathologically, of course),
except Miss Vesta Blyth, aged sixty. I am in love
with her, I grant you; anybody would be, with eyes
in his head. Don't I know that I would amount to
twice as much if the society of women formed part
of my life? Numskull, it _does_ form part of it, a
very important part. In the first place, I have my
patients. Body of me, my patients! Did I not sit
a stricken hour with Mrs. Abigail Plummer yesterday
afternoon? She 'feels a crawling in her pipes,'--I'll
spare you Mrs. Plummer, but you must hear