“How can you judge as to that, my dear?” said the lady, sternly.
“Well, you see, auntie, one does get a bit queer sometimes. I had such a headache the other day when he called to see uncle, and he laughed at me, and took me over to the hotel and gave me a dose of stuff that cured it in half an hour.”
“Sydney, my dear, I beg that you will never go to that hotel again. Avoid Tilborough as much as you would any other evil place. The next time you have a headache either go and see Dr Linnett or come to me, and I will give you something out of the medicine-chest. Dr Granton cannot be an experienced practitioner.”
“Why, they say, auntie, he’s wonderfully clever over accidents in the hunting field.”
“Yes, in the hunting field,” said the lady, sarcastically; “but a medical man’s practice should be at home, and in his own neighbourhood. A man who attends grooms at racing stables is to my mind more of what is, I believe, called a veter—”
“That’s right, auntie—a vet.”
“Than a family practitioner,” continued the lady, sternly; “and it is a source of great trouble to me that your uncle does not give up his society. I desire that you avoid him.”
“All right, auntie; I will.”
“Always bear in mind, my dear, that it is easier to make acquaintances than to end them.”
“Yes, auntie; I found that out in Loamborough. Some of the fellows will stick to you.”