I FALL A SACRIFICE TO MRS.

GRUNDY.
"A word with you, if you please, Basil Arbuthnot," said Dr.Cheron, "when you have finished copying those prescriptions." Dr.Cheron was standing with his feet firmly planted in the tiger-skin rug and his back to the fireplace.

I was busy writing at the study table, and glancing anxiously from time to time at the skeleton clock upon the chimney-piece; for it was getting on fast towards five, and at half-past six I was to take Josephine to the Opera Comique.

As perverse fortune would have it, the Doctor had this afternoon given me more desk-work than usual, and I began to doubt whether I should be able to dine, dress, and reach the theatre in time if he detained me much longer.
"But you need be in no haste," he added, looking at his watch.

"That is to say, upon my account." I bowed nervously--I was always nervous in his presence--and tried to write faster than ever; but, feeling his cold blue eye upon me, made a blot, smeared it with my sleeve, left one word out, wrote another twice over, and was continually tripped up by my pen, which sputtered hideously and covered the page with florid passages in little round spots, which only needed tails to become crotchets and quavers.