“I do hope it’s nothing horrid they’ve sent for you for,” continued Mrs. Crichton, a new idea striking her. “A murder perhaps, or a suicide, and they may want you to help to hush it up! I do hope you will be careful, Edmond; you know I often tell you you are very rash sometimes. You forgot your comforter again this very morning, and you don’t know what you may get mixed up in if you are not careful.”
“I’ll be very careful,” he assured her. “But I wish I were not going, I am tired to-night.”
Mrs. Crichton looked up anxiously,
“You are so much oftener tired than you used to be, Edmond. I don’t think you can be as strong as you were. I am sure you want a change.”
“I am as strong as ever, I assure you, Bessie. “My tiredness is more mental than physical,” he replied.
“But change is good for every sort of complaint,” said Bessie vaguely.
“But suppose I can’t have a change, said Mr. Guildford carelessly.
“You can if you like. You make me very unhappy, Edmond, when you talk in that indifferent way,” said Mrs. Crichton plaintively. “I don’t believe you take a bit of care of yourself when I’m away, and I can’t be here always, you know. I do wish you were married. You have over and over again said to me you did intend to marry some time or other, and then it has all come to nothing, and everybody knows it’s the proper thing for a doctor to be married. It would double your practice.”
“I have quite as much practice as I want, thank you,” answered her brother; “and if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t at all suit my ideas to marry for the sake of increasing it; but I do still intend to marry some time or other, Bessie, whenever I come across the right person.”
“What do you call the right person?” inquired Mrs. Crichton, looking far from satisfied. “I dare say you expect all sorts of things you are sure never to find in any girl.”