“O yes!” said Cecilia, “I believe—I think so!”
“Nay, nay, I did not ask if you thought him tolerable now, so no need to be frightened.”
Here they were interrupted by the entrance of Dr Lyster.
“Well, Sir,” cried Lady Honoria, “and when am I to go into mourning for my cousin Mortimer?”
“Why very soon,” answered he, “unless you take better care of him. He has confessed to me that after being out in the storm last Wednesday, he sat in his wet cloaths all the evening.”
“Dear,” cried Lady Honoria, “and what would that do to him? I have no notion of a man's always wanting a cambric handkerchief about his throat.”
“Perhaps your ladyship had rather make him apply it to his eyes?” cried the doctor; “however, sitting inactive in wet cloaths would destroy a stouter man than Mr Delvile; but he forgot it, he says! which of you two young ladies could not have given as good reason?”
“Your most obedient,” said Lady Honoria, “and why should not a lady give as good a reason as a gentleman?”
“I don't know,” answered he, drily, “but from want of practice, I believe.”
“O worse and worse!” cried Lady Honoria; “you shall never be my physician; if I was to be attended by you, you'd make me sick instead of well.”