The Disagreeable Woman

"Because I could make a larger income. It is all very well to be a young minister, but a young doctor does not inspire confidence."

"I am sure I would rather call in a young doctor unless I were very sick."

"There it is! Unless you were very sick."

"But even then," said the widow, coquettishly, "I am sure I should feel confidence in you, Dr. Fenwick. You wouldn't prescribe very nasty pills, would you?"

"I would order bread pills, if I thought they would answer the purpose."

"That would be nice. But you haven't answered my question. What were you and Miss Blagden talking about?"

"About doctors; she hasn't much faith in men of my profession."

"Or of any other, I fancy. What do you think of her?"

"That is a leading question, Mrs. Wyman; I haven't thought very much about her so far, I have thought more of you."

"Oh, you naughty flatterer!" said the widow, graciously. "Not that I believe you. Men are such deceivers."

"Do ladies never deceive?"

"You ought to have been a lawyer, you ask such pointed questions. Really, Dr. Fenwick, I am quite afraid of you."

"There's no occasion. I am quite harmless, I do assure you. The time to be afraid of me is when you call me in as a physician."

"Excuse me, doctor, but Mrs. Gray is about to make an announcement."

We both turned our glances upon the landlady.

CHAPTER VI.

COUNT PENELLI

Mrs. Gray was a lady of the old school. She was the widow of a merchant supposed to be rich, and in the days of her magnificence had lived in a large mansion on Fourteenth Street, and kept her carriage. When her husband died suddenly of apoplexy his fortune melted away, and she found herself possessed of expensive tastes, and a pittance of two thousand dollars.

She was practical, however, and with a part of her money bought an old established boarding-house on Waverley Place. This she had conducted for ten years, and it yielded her a good income. Her two thousand dollars had become ten, and her future was secure.

Mrs. Gray did not class herself among boarding-house keepers. Her boarders she regarded as her family, and she felt a personal interest in each and all. When they became too deeply in arrears, they received a quiet hint, and dropped out of the pleasant home circle. But this did not happen very often.

From time to time when she had anything which she thought would interest her "family," she made what might be called a "speech from the throne." Usually we could tell when this was going to take place. She moved about a little restlessly, and pushed back her chair slightly from the table. Then all became silent and expectant.

This morning Mrs. Wyman augured rightly. Mrs. Gray was about to make an announcement.

She cleared her throat, and said: "My friends, I have a gratifying announcement to make. We are about to have an accession to our pleasant circle."

"Who is it?" asked the widow, eagerly.

Mrs. Gray turned upon her a look of silent reproof.

"It is a gentleman of high family. Count Antonio Penelli, of Italy."

There was a buzz of excitement. We had never before had a titled fellow boarder, and democratic as we were we were pleased to learn that we should sit at the same board with a nobleman.

Probably no one was more pleasantly excited than Mrs. Wyman. Every male boarder she looked upon as her constituent, if I may use this word, and she always directed her earliest efforts to captivate any new masculine arrival.

"What does he look like, Mrs. Gray?" she asked, breathless.

"He looks like an Italian," answered the landlady, in a practical tone. "He has dark hair and a dark complexion. He has also a black moustache, but no side whiskers."

"Is he good looking?"

"You will have to decide for yourselves when you see him."

"When shall we see him?"

"He is to be here to-night at supper."

"The day will seem very long," murmured the widow.

"You seem to regard him already as your special property."

This of course came from the lips of the Disagreeable Woman.

"I presume you are as anxious to see him as I am," snapped Mrs. Wyman.

"I once knew an Italian Count," said Miss Blagden reflectively.

"Did you? How nice!"

"I do not know about that. He turned out to be a barber."

"Horrible! Then he was not a count."

"I think he was, but he was poor and chose to earn a living in the only way open to him. I respected him the more on that account."

Mrs. Wyman was evidently shocked. It seemed to dissipate the halo of romance which she had woven around the coming boarder.

"Count Penelli did not appear to be in any business?" she asked, anxiously, of the landlady.

"He said he was a tourist, and wished to spend a few months in America."

The widow brightened up. This seemed to indicate that he was a man of means.

Prof. Poppendorf did not seem to share in the interest felt in the Count.

"I do not like Italians," he said. "They are light, frivolous; they are not solid like the Germans."

"The Professor is solid enough," said Mrs. Wyman, with a titter.