“I thought it was odd his name was Tertius,” said the bright-faced matron, “but of course it’s a name in the family. But now, tell us exactly what sort of man he is.”
“Oh, tallish, dark, clever—talks well—rather a prig, I think.”
“I never can make out what you mean by a prig,” said Rosamond.
“A fellow who wants to show that he has opinions.”
“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