On our way out, my friend shewed me the block of buildings set apart for the use of out-patients. Pointing to one room, she said: 'That is where they do any little thing—such as taking out a tooth.' I am afraid most of us are in the habit of looking upon that operation as anything but little; and to tell the truth, the patients we encountered coming up the steps seemed to share the popular notion, and did not look particularly joyful in their anticipations. So we left the hospital, feeling thankful that, though suffering and poverty must always be, so much is done to alleviate the sorrows of the suffering poor.
[THE LAST OF THE HADDONS.]
CHAPTER XVI.—MARIAN'S RISE IN LIFE.
In the garden I found Mr Wentworth pacing one of the side-walks.
'How does she bear it?' he asked, advancing towards me.
'I do not fear for her—eventually. But it is very terrible.' Striking my hand upon the arm of a garden-seat, I angrily added: 'And he dares to call it love! Thank God, the more she sees of it the less she will believe in it!'
'He is trying to persuade her not to act upon that paper. I saw that was his intention.'
'But you were not so blind as to suppose he would succeed?' I retorted.
'No; I was not so blind as that.'