"I hope so, too," retorted Spolger, with gloomy foreboding. "I've arranged all the tour, Florry. We go first to Malvern, a very healthy place, then to Bath to drink the waters. After that, if you like, we'll go abroad, though I much distrust the drainage of these foreign towns."
"Oh, let us go abroad at once," said Florry, eagerly; "to Paris. If you find it too lively, you can walk everyday in the Père-la-Chaise Cemetery."
"Don't jest on such a subject, Florry," said Judith, reprovingly.
"Oh, I don't mind," replied the lover, with gloomy relish; "we'll all have to go to the cemetery some day, so it's as well to get accustomed to the idea."
His three listeners looked rather depressed at this dismal prophecy, but said nothing, while Mr. Spolger told cheerful little stories of how his liver would treat him if he did not look after it. This led him to talk of medicine, which suggested chemists, which in their turn suggested Wosk & Co., so by-and-by Mr. Spolger began to talk of Monsieur Judas.
"A most estimable young man," he said, feeling his own pulse in a professional manner; "he has had typhoid fever twice, and suffers from corns."
"Tight boots?" asked Florry, flippantly.
"No, hereditary! Most curious case. But talking of Monsieur Guinaud—"
"Judas," said Miss Varlins, smiling.
"Yes, I hear they call him Judas on account of his red hair," replied Mr. Spolger, laughing carefully. "Well, as a chemist, he takes a great interest in Florry."