"That was the expression of a momentary enthusiasm," said the Count. "Besides, what could be more natural? M. Rondelet is French in name, in blood,—is it not so?—largely even by education. Allez! it is most natural, he is more than half a Frenchman. I have always claimed you as a compatriot, mon cher."
"Yes," said Mrs. Harden with a sigh,—she was unaccountably depressed this evening,—"Philip is changed. He once had time to read with me, to walk with me, to sing with me, to be, in short, a little companionable; now he has taken up his profession, and my husband tells me he is the hardest worked doctor in town. What 's the use of working? I hate work; but the provoking thing is that you working people are always the most amusing, while idlers like myself are very boresome to me. It 's a hard old world."
Margaret laughed as she had not laughed for a week, and patted her friend's soft hand, saying,—
"You work too hard in trying to amuse yourself; there is no harder work than that in the world."
"Now, Margaret, no philosophy, please. 'Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings' is all very well; but from a chit like you I can't endure it. Come, Comte, I must get back to my old Gaffer
