"Guardy, don't mention that I am here," said Gipsy, hurriedly. "I have a project in hand, that I fancy will astonish him a little, by and by."
"Well, be sure you're right, then go ahead, as Solomon says—you always have some project or other in your cranium to bother his brains."
"I fancy I will bother him a little more than usual this time," said Gipsy, with a low, bitter laugh—gliding through one door just as the doctor entered by another.
Dr. Wiseman, thin and attenuated by illness, looked even more ghastly and hideous (if such a thing were possible) than when we saw him last. He advanced, and took a seat near the fire.
"Well, Wiseman, what's this wonderful affair you have to tell me?" said the squire, adjusting himself in his seat to listen.
"It concerns my wife," replied the doctor, slowly.
"Yes, some complaint, I'll be bound! Now, I tell you what, Wiseman, I won't listen to your stories about Gipsy. She has always done what she liked, and she always shall, for what I care. If she likes to enjoy herself, she will, and you nor no one else shall interfere," said the squire, striking the table with an emphatic thump.
"Don't jump at conclusions so hastily, my dear sir," said the doctor, dryly. "I have no complaint to make of Mrs. Wiseman. It is of her birth and parentage I would speak."
"Her birth and parentage! Is the man mad? Don't you know she's a foundling?" said the squire, staring with all his eyes.
"Yes, but lately I have discovered who she is. You need not excite yourself, Squire Erliston, as I see you intend doing. Listen to me, and I will tell you all about it. The time has come for you to know.