administration, could hardly occasion us much in the reception.

As soon as she had left the room, Percy broke out, with more emphasis
than politeness:

"What the devil's the matter with Adela, uncle?"

"Indeed, I can't tell, my boy," answered the colonel, with more
kindness than the form of the question deserved.

"Have you no conjecture on the subject?" I asked.

"None. I have tried hard to find out; but I have altogether failed.
She tells me there is nothing the matter with her, only she is so
tired. What has she to tire her?"

"If she is tired inside first, everything will tire her."

"I wish you would try to find out, Smith."

"I will."

"Her mother died of a decline."

"I know. Have you had no advice?"

"Oh, yes! Dr. Wade is giving her steel-wine, and quinine, and all that
sort of thing. For my part, I don't believe in their medicines.
Certainly they don't do her any good."