"
"This is good sense," said Lusignan. "I declare, I--I wish I knew how to
get rid of them."
"Oh, I'll do that, papa."
"No, no; it is not worth a rumpus."
"I'll do it too politely for that. Christopher, you are very
clever--TERRIBLY clever. Whenever I threw their medicines away, I was
always a little better that day. I will sacrifice them to you. It IS
a sacrifice. They are both so kind and chatty, and don't grudge me
hieroglyphics; now you do."
She sat down and wrote two sweet letters to Dr. Snell and Mr. Wyman,
thanking them for the great attention they had paid her; but finding
herself getting steadily worse, in spite of all they had done for her,
she proposed to discontinue her medicines for a time, and try change of
air.
"And suppose they call to see whether you are changing the air?"
"In that case, papa--'not at home.'"
The notes were addressed and despatched.
Then Dr. Staines brightened up, and said to Lusignan, "I am now happy to
tell you that I have overrated the malady. The sad change I see in Miss
Lusignan is partly due to the great bulk of unwholesome esculents
she has been eating and drinking under the head of medicines. These
discontinued, she might linger on for years, existing, though not
living--the tight-laced cannot be said to live.
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