He made another speech⁠—the man was absolutely inexhaustible. I closed my eyes⁠—I endeavoured to hear as little as possible. In spite of my endeavours I was obliged to hear a great deal. My sister’s endless husband congratulated himself, and congratulated me, on the result of our interview⁠—he mentioned a great deal more about his sympathies and mine⁠—he deplored my miserable health⁠—he offered to write me a prescription⁠—he impressed on me the necessity of not forgetting what he had said about the importance of light⁠—he accepted my obliging invitation to rest and lunch⁠—he recommended me to expect Lady Glyde in two or three days’ time⁠—he begged my permission to look forward to our next meeting, instead of paining himself and paining me, by saying farewell⁠—he added a great deal more, which, I rejoice to think, I did not attend to at the time, and do not remember now. I heard his sympathetic voice travelling away from me by degrees⁠—but, large as he was, I never heard him . He had the negative merit of being absolutely noiseless. I don’t know when he opened the door, or when he shut it. I ventured to make use of my eyes again, after an interval of silence⁠—and he was gone.