for some time to come. I never could have
spared my housekeeper more easily than I
can spare her now."

"I am sure I may offer Mrs. Frankland's
thanks to you as well as my own," said Mr.
Orridge. "After what you have said, it
would be ungracious and ungrateful in me
not to follow your advice. But will you
excuse me, if I ask one question? Did you
ever hear that Mrs. Jazeph was subject to
fits of any kind?"

"Never."

"Not even to hysterical affections, now
and then?"

"Never, since she has been in this
house."

"You surprise me, there is something in
her look and manner——"

"Yes, yes; everybody remarks that, at
first; but it simply means that she is in
delicate health, and that she has not led a
very happy life (as I suspect) in her younger
days. The lady from whom I had her (with
an excellent character) told me that she had
married unhappily when she was in a sadly
poor unprotected state. She never says
anything about her married troubles herself; but
I believe her husband ill-used her. However,
it does not seem to me that this is our business.
I can only tell you again that she has been an
excellent servant here for the last five years,
and that, in your place, poorly as she may
look, I should consider her as the best nurse
that Mrs. Frankland could possibly wish for
under the circumstances. There is no need
for me to say any more. Take Mrs. Jazeph,
or telegraph to London for a stranger— the
decision of course rests with you."

Mr. Orridge thought he detected a slight
tone of irritability in Mrs. Norbury's last
sentence. He was a prudent man; and
he suppressed any doubts he might still
feel in reference to Mrs. Jazeph's physical
capacities for nursing rather than risk offending
the most important lady in the neighbourhood
at the outset of his practice in West
Winston as a medical man.

"I cannot hesitate a moment after what
you have been good enough to tell me," he
said. "Pray believe that I gratefully accept
your kindness and your housekeeper's offer."

Mrs. Norbury rang the bell. It was
answered, on the instant, by the housekeeper
herself.

The doctor wondered whether she had
been listening outside the door, and thought
it rather strange, if she had, that she should
be so anxious to learn his decision.

"Mr. Orridge accepts your offer with
thanks," said Mrs. Norbury, beckoning to Mrs.
Jazeph to advance into the room. "I have
persuaded him that you are not quite so
weak and ill as you look."

A gleam of joyful surprise broke over the
housekeeper's face. It looked suddenly younger
by years and years, as she smiled and
expressed her grateful sense of the trust that
was about to be reposed in her. For the first
time also since the doctor had seen her, she
ventured on speaking before she was spoken to.

"When will my attendance be required,
sir?" she asked.

"As soon as possible," replied Mr. Orridge.
How quickly and brightly her dim eyes
seemed to clear as she heard that answer!
How much more hasty than her usual movements
was the movement with which she
now turned round and looked appealingly at
her mistress!

"Go whenever Mr. Orridge wants you,"
said Mrs. Norbury. "I know your accounts
are always in order, and your keys always in
their proper places. You never make confusion
and you never leave confusion. Go, by
all means, as soon as the doctor wants you."

"I suppose you have some preparations to
make?" said Mr. Orridge.

"None, sir, that need delay me more than
half-an-hour," answered Mrs. Jazeph.

"This evening will be early enough," said
the doctor, taking his hat, and bowing to
Mrs. Norbury. "Come to the Tiger's Head,
and ask for me. I shall be there between
seven and eight. Many thanks again, Mrs.
Norbury."

"My best wishes and compliments to your
patient, doctor."

"At the Tiger's Head, between seven and
eight this evening," reiterated Mr. Orridge,
as the housekeeper opened the door for him.

"Between seven and eight, sir," repeated
the soft sweet voice, sounding younger than
ever now that there was an under-note of
pleasure running through its tones.

         A PARISIAN POLITE LETTER
                         WRITER.

WE visit our French neighbours, invade
their bathing-towns, starve out their small
incomes by raising the price of everything
from the egg to the full-grown poularde.
We join their table d'hôtes, sleep in their
luxurious beds, lounge on Parisian boulevards,
eat ices at Tortini's, and thirty franc
dinners at Philippe's; doze at the Théâtre
Français, grumble at the passeporte-office,
and return home with a stock of presents not
much more than twenty per cent. dearer than
if bought in London or Manchester, with
about as much idea of the real life of France,
as we have of the scenery of Naples from a
scene at the opera.

Thanks to the universal diffusion of
English papers, full of news and information,
instead of ordinances and feuilletons, we do
know rather more about our other-side-the-
channel allies, than the gentlemen who
describe, "the grogs, crickets, portos, courses of
Derby, and exhibitions of box," in a small
octavo vol., after a week in Leicester Square,
without any previous study of the language
Anglo-Saxon; but we must dive deeper than
the amusements prepared for the stranger,