"Why, my dear, doctors must have opinions," said Mrs Vincy. "What are they there for else?"
"Yes, mother, the opinions they are paid for. But a prig is a fellow who is always making you a present of his opinions."
"I suppose Mary Garth admires Mr Lydgate," said Rosamond, not without a touch of innuendo.
"Really, I can't say," said Fred, rather glumly, as he left the table, and taking up a novel which he had brought down with him, threw himself into an arm-chair. "If you are jealous of her, go oftener to Stone Court yourself and eclipse her."
"I wish you would not be so vulgar, Fred. If you have finished, pray ring the bell."
"It is true, though—what your brother says, Rosamond," Mrs Vincy began, when the servant had cleared the table. "It is a thousand pities you haven't patience to go and see your uncle more, so proud of you as he is, and wanted you to live with him. There's no knowing what he might have done for you as well as for Fred. God knows, I'm fond of having you at home with me, but I can part with my children for their good. And now it stands to reason that your uncle Featherstone will do something for Mary Garth."
"Mary Garth can bear being at Stone Court, because she likes that better than being a gover-
