Geoffrey Strong | Page 6

facilities for the study of
disease. An obscure and complicated case of neurasthenia, now,--but
these things are hardly practicable; besides, a man would have to be a
Mormon. No, no, let lawyers marry young; business men,
parsons,--especially parsons, because they need filling out as a
rule,--but not doctors."
The young doctor paused, and gave his whole vigorous mind to the fire
for a moment. It was in a precarious condition, and the brands had to be
built up in careful and precise fashion, with red coals tucked in neatly
here and there. Then he took the bellows in hand, and blew steadily and
critically, with keen eyes bent on the smouldering brands. A few
seconds of breathless waiting, and a jet of yellow flame sprang up,
faltered, died out, sprang up again, and crept flickering in and out
among the brands powdered white with ashes. Now it was a strong,
leaping flame, and all the room shone out in its light; the ancient
Turkey carpet, with its soft blending of every colour into a harmonious
no-colour; the quaint portraits, like court-cards in tarnished gilt frames;
the teak-wood chairs and sofas, with their delicate spindle-legs, and
backs inlaid with sandalwood; Miss Phoebe's work-table, with its bag
of faded crimson damask, and Miss Phoebe herself, pleasant to look
upon in her dove-coloured cashmere gown, with her kerchief of soft
net.
[Illustration: The young doctor glancing around saw all these things.]
The young doctor, glancing around, saw all these things in the light of

his newly-resuscitated fire; and seeing, gave a little sigh of comfort,
and laying down the bellows, leaned back in his chair again.
"You were going to say something, Miss Blyth?" he said, in his eager
way. "Please go on! I had to save the fire, don't you know? it was on its
last legs--coals, I should say. Please go on, won't you?"
Miss Phoebe coughed. She had been brought up not to use the word
"leg" freely; "limb" had been considered more elegant, as well as-- but
medical men, no doubt, took a broader view of these matters.
"I was merely about to remark," she said, with dignity, "that in many
ways my views on this subject coincide with yours, Doctor Strong. I
have the highest respect for--a--matrimony; it is a holy estate, and the
daughter of my honoured parents could ill afford to think lightly of it;
yet in a great many cases I own it appears to me a sad waste of time and
energy. I have noted in my reading, both secular and religious, that
though the married state is called holy, the term 'blessed' is reserved for
a single life. Women of clinging nature, or those with few interests,
doubtless do well to marry, a suitable partner being provided; but for a
person with the full use of her faculties, and with rational occupation
more than sufficient to fill her time, I admit I am unable to conceive the
attraction of it. I speak for myself; my sister Vesta has other views. My
sister Vesta had a disappointment in early life. From my point of view,
she would have been far better off without the unfortunate attachment
which--though to a very worthy person--terminated so sadly. But my
sister is not of my opinion. She has a clinging, affectionate nature, my
sister Vesta."
"She's an angel!" said Doctor Strong.
"You are right, my friend, you are very right!" said Miss Phoebe; and
her cap strings trembled with affection. "There is an angelic quality,
surely, in my sister Vesta. She might have been happy--I trust she
would have been--if Providence had been pleased to call her to the
married estate. But for me, Doctor Strong, no! I have always said, and I
shall always say, while I have the use of my faculties--no! I thank you
for the honour you do me; I appreciate the sentiments to which you
have given utterance; but I can never be yours."
To any third party who had seen Miss Phoebe, drawn up erect in her
chair, uttering these words with chiselled majesty, and Doctor Strong,
bellows in hand, his bright eyes fixed upon her, receiving them with

kindling attention, it might certainly have appeared as if he had been
making her an offer of marriage; but the thought would have been
momentary, for when the good lady ceased, the young doctor chimed in
heartily:
"Quite right! quite right, I'm sure, Miss Blyth. He'd be absurd to think
of such a thing, you know; the idea of your wasting your time! That's
what I say to fellows; 'How can you waste your time, when you'll be
dead before you know it anyhow, and not have had time to look about
you, much less learn anything?' No, sir,--I beg your pardon, ma'am! A
single