"I am extremely puzzled," said Dr. Jerce, scratching his plump chin with his right fore-finger--a favourite gesture of his.
"Oh!--a clever man like you."
"Ah-a,--what pleasant feminine flattery."
"The truth. You are celebrated."
"Humph! So is a charlatan, if he advertises himself sufficiently."
"Charlatans don't cure people as you do, doctor,--nor can they ever hope to be knighted, like someone I know."
"Well," answered the stout man, again tickling his chin. "I am not so sure of that. Humbug often succeeds, where merit fails. Perhaps," his little black eyes twinkled, "perhaps that is why I can look forward to being Sir Daniel Jerce."
The girl looked closely into his bland face. "A charlatan would never confess to being puzzled."
"In this case," Jerce shrugged, and resumed a quarter-deck walk in the long drawing-room, "the Archangel Gabriel would be puzzled."
"What can be the matter with Uncle Henry?" observed his listener, pensively.