CHAPTER XXIII.
THAT FICKLE MATTY.
"Well, doctor, and where are you off to now ?" The speaker was the doctor's wife.

"I do think it's unreasonable of people," continued this good lady, "to send for you just when you are sitting down to your comfortable breakfast, and you so particular as you are about your coffee." "Who is it, Mary Anne?
Who's the messenger from ?" turning to the maid-servant, who stood in a waiting attitude half-in, half-out of the door.
"Oh, it's only the Bells.

You needn't hurry off to the Bells, Tom." "As well they as another," retorted Dr.Morris "Tell the messenger I'll be round directly, Mary Anne.

Now, what's the matter, old lady?
Why should you fidget yourself, and have such a spiteful tone when the Bells are mentioned ?" "Oh, I'm sick of them, and their airs and affectations," growled Mrs.
Morris, who suddenly put on her thickest and most bronchial tones.

"What with their afternoon tea, and their grand at-homes, and the ridiculous way they've been going on about that little Matty lately, I really lose all patience with them.