that’s your fault and your misfortune. I assure you everybody knows them.”
“And does everybody know the little man with the fat face to whom you kissed your hand?”
“I didn’t kiss my hand, but I would if I had thought of it. He’s a great chum of mine—a fellow-student at Vienna.”
“And what’s his name?”
“Doctor Feeder.”
Jackson Lemon’s companion had a dandling pause. “Are all your friends doctors?”
“No—some of them are in other businesses.”
“Are they all in some business?”
“Most of them—save two or three like Dexter Freer.”
“‘Dexter’ Freer? I thought you said Doctor Freer.”
The young man gave a laugh. “You heard me wrong. You’ve got doctors on the brain, Lady Barb.”
“I’m rather glad,” said Lady Barb, giving the rein to her horse, who bounded away.
“Well yes, she’s very handsome, the reason,” Doctor Feeder remarked as he sat under the trees.
“Is he going to marry her?” Mrs. Freer inquired.
“Marry her? I hope not.”
“Why do you hope not?”
“Because I know nothing about her. I want to know something about the woman that man marries.”
“I suppose you’d like him to marry in Cincinnati,” Mrs. Freer not unadventurously threw out.
“Well, I’m not particular where it is; but I want to know her first.” Doctor Feeder was very sturdy.
“We were in hopes you’d know all about it,” said his other entertainer.
“No, I haven’t kept up with him there.”
“We’ve heard from a dozen people that he has been always with her for the last month—and that kind of thing, in England, is supposed to mean something. Hasn’t he spoken of her when you’ve seen him?”
“No, he has only talked about the new treatment of spinal meningitis. He’s very much interested in spinal meningitis.”
“I wonder if he talks about it to Lady Barb,” said Mrs. Freer.
“Who is she anyway?” the young man wanted to know.
Well, his companions both let him. “Lady Barb Clement.”
“And who’s Lady Barb Clement?”
“The daughter of Lord Canterville.”
“And who’s Lord Canterville?”
“Dexter must tell you that,” said Mrs. Freer.
And Dexter accordingly told him that the Marquis of Canterville had been in his day a great sporting nobleman and an ornament to English society, and had held more than once a high post in her Majesty’s household. Dexter Freer knew all these things—how his lordship had married a daughter of Lord Treherne, a very serious intelligent and beautiful woman who had redeemed him from the extravagance of his youth and presented him in rapid succession with a dozen little tenants for the nurseries at Pasterns—this being, as Mr. Freer also knew, the name of the principal seat of the Cantervilles. The head of that house was a Tory, but not a particular dunce for a Tory, and very popular in society at large; good-natured, good-looking, knowing how to be rather remarkably free and yet remain a grand seigneur, clever enough to make an occasional telling speech and much associated with the fine old English pursuits as well as with many of the new improvements—the purification of the Turf, the opening of the museums on Sunday, the propagation of coffee-taverns, the latest ideas on sanitary reform. He disapproved of the extension of the suffrage but had positively drainage on the brain. It had been said of him at least once—and, if this historian is not mistaken, in print—that he was just the man to convey to the popular mind the impression that the British aristocracy is still a living force. He was unfortunately not very rich—for a man who had to exemplify such truths—and of his twelve children no less than seven were daughters. Lady Barb, Jackson Lemon’s friend, was the second; the eldest had married Lord Beauchemin. Mr. Freer had caught quite the right pronunciation of this name, which he successfully sounded as Bitumen. Lady Lucretia had done very well, for her husband was rich and she had brought him nothing to speak of; but it was hardly to be expected they would all achieve such flights. Happily the younger girls were still in the schoolroom, and before they had come up, Lady Canterville, who was a woman of bold resource, would have worked off the two that were out. It was Lady Agatha’s first season; she wasn’t so pretty as her sister, but was thought to be cleverer. Half-a-dozen people had spoken to him of Jackson Lemon’s being a great deal at the Cantervilles. He was supposed to be enormously rich.
“Well, so he is,” said Sidney Feeder, who had listened to Mr. Freer’s report with attention, with eagerness even, but, for all its lucidity, with an air of imperfect apprehension.
“Yes, but not so rich as they probably think.”
“Do they want his money? Is that what they’re after?”
“You go straight to the point!” Mrs. Freer rang out.
“I haven’t the least idea,” said her husband. “He’s a very good sort in himself.”
“Yes, but he’s a doctor,” Mrs. Freer observed.
“What have they got against that?” asked Sidney Feeder.
“Why, over here, you know, they only call them in to prescribe,” said his other friend. “The profession isn’t—a—what you’d call aristocratic.”
“Well, I don’t know it, and I don’t know that I want to know it. How do you mean, aristocratic? What profession is? It would be rather a curious one. Professions are meant to do the work of professions; and what work’s done without your sleeves rolled up? Many of the gentlemen at the congress there are quite charming.”
“I like doctors very much,” said Mrs. Freer; “my father was a doctor. But they don’t marry the daughters of marquises.”
“I don’t believe Jackson wants to marry that one,” Sidney Feeder calmly argued.
“Very possibly not—people are such asses,” said Dexter Freer. “But he’ll have to decide. I wish you’d find out, by the way. You can if you will.”
“I’ll ask him—up at the congress; I can do that. I suppose he has got to marry some one.” The young man added in a moment: “And she may be a good thing.”
“She’s said to be charming.”
“Very well then, it won’t hurt him. I must say, however, I’m not sure I like all that about her family.”
“What I told you? It’s all to their honour and glory,” said Mr. Freer.
“Are they quite on the square?
