'Good gracious! Doctor Faber, I am so glad to see you. Sit right down in
this easy-chair. We've muffins for tea, and some preserves sent all the
way from dear Old England. Now, Allen, be lively to-night, and show us
how that cold chicken should be carved.'
Thus Lilian, Doctor Fenwick's wife, rattled on. She had grown very stout
in the five years passed since 'A Strange Story' was written, and now
weighed full thirteen stone, was red-cheeked and merry as a cricket.
Mrs. Ashleigh, too, had grown very stout and red-cheeked, and was
bustling around when the two doctors entered the room.
'How much do you think I weigh?' asked Fenwick of Doctor Faber.
'About fifteen stone,' answered the old doctor, while he dissected a
side-bone of the chicken. 'I think you did well to begin farming in
earnest. There is nothing like good hard work to cure the dyspepsia and
romantic dreams.'
'Indeed, dear doctor, and you have reason, to be sure,' said Mrs.
Ashleigh. 'And pray, don't you think, now, that Lilian is a great deal
more comely since she has given up worsted-work and dawdling, and taken
to filling her duties as housewife?'
'To be sure I do.'
The doctor here passed the muffins to Lilian. She helped herself to a
brown one, remarking:
'It is such a blessed thing to have a fine appetite, and be able to eat
half-a-dozen muffins for tea! Oh! by the way, Allen, I wish you would
buy three or four more barrels of pale ale--we are nearly out.'