HUSBAND AND WIFE.
Mr. and Mrs. Merivale are still seated at the breakfast-table on the
morning of the 27th, the former deep in his newspaper, the latter
taking another glance through her letters. The children have already
taken themselves off some time, and with Miss Denison are busy
upstairs putting finishing touches to some of the costumes for the
evening.
"Here is a letter from Sophia," presently remarks Mrs. Merivale to
her husband. "She proposes coming to us for a few days on her way
back to town when she leaves the Pagets; would you like-- Why,
James, what is the matter?" and rising quickly from her chair she
hurries round to his side, startled by the ashy paleness which has
suddenly overspread his face.
"No--no, it is--nothing!" gasps Mr. Merivale; but at the same moment
he drops the paper and presses his hand against his side with a
little smothered moan. Mrs. Merivale snatches up her salts (which
are always at hand) and holds them under her husband's nostrils, then
hastily unscrewing the other end of the pretty toy she deluges her
handkerchief with _eau de Cologne_, and bathes his forehead and
temples until there is once more a little colour in his face.
"Thanks, dear," he says at last feebly. "I am all right again
now--it was only--a stitch--that's all! You need not look so
frightened, Mary, my dear. The pain was sharp while it lasted, but I
am quite myself now, indeed I am. Give me a little strong coffee,
Mary; and perhaps I had better have a spoonful of brandy in it."
"You must call and see Dr. Newton," says Mrs. Merivale as she busies
herself with the coffee; "and now _do_ try and get home an hour or
two earlier to-day. I am sure there is no reason why you should not."
"Oh, but there is!" says Mr. Merivale, sipping his coffee. "That's
just it. Waymark has gone away for a few days, and I shall have
double work until he comes back, instead of being able to take things
easily."
"How very provoking! What could he want to take a holiday for just
now? Surely it is an unheard-of time for a holiday."
"Yes, so it would be. But this is no holiday, I fancy, for I believe
he said something about an aunt being very ill and being summoned to
see her; but really I was so busy at the time I hardly noticed what
he did say. I had called him into my private room to show him a
letter from Clayton & Co., who have a large account with us, you
know. It was merely advising us as a matter of form that they would
be withdrawing the bulk of their deposit on the 30th instant, and as
Waymark sees to all the books and that sort of thing, I wanted him to
have the letter of course; then it was that he told me he must leave
for a few days, said he was just coming in to tell me about it."
"Well, and what about the letter? didn't he see that this would give
you extra trouble?"
"Well, he didn't seem to concern himself much about that; which after
his bad news was natural, I suppose. But he said Mr. Hobson knew as
much about the books as himself, and that I need have no trouble
about the matter, as I could leave it all to him. He only looked in
a moment after that to say good-bye, and that very possibly he would
be back himself by the 30th, in time to give a look to the affair.
So now you see, Mary, instead of sitting here I ought to be hurrying
off. Of course I shall get home as soon as ever I can, for the
children's sake as well as my own; but as to seeing the doctor
to-day, I can't promise. It will do very well in a day or two when I
have more time. It seems quite ridiculous to have made such a fuss
about nothing, for I feel as right as a trivet now."
"_Nothing!_" repeats Mrs. Merivale testily. "If you could have seen
your face as _I_ saw it, James, you would not talk of 'nothing' in
that manner. Besides, you have had these _stitches_, as you call
them, more than once lately, and you _ought_ to have advice. But
there! you won't, of course. I never knew any man so care-less about
himself--_never_; and I might just as well talk to the wind for any
notice you take of what _I_ say. O, dear me! was ever any woman in
this wide world tried and worried as I am?"
"Well, there, there, Mary; don't worry yourself about me," and Mr.
Merivale comes up to his wife and kisses her affectionately. "I
promise you I will go, only I _cannot_ spare time for the next day or
two. But the moment Waymark comes back, we will go together if you
like. Now, I can't say more than that, can I?"
His wife looks somewhat consoled, and for her husband's sake she
shakes off the anxiety she really feels. With a once-more smiling
face she helps him on with his overcoat herself, and stands at the
street door until the brougham has driven away. There is not much
time for thinking when she gets back into the dining-room, for with a
rush like a whirlwind the girls run down the staircase and quickly
surround her, each one proffering a different request. Poor Mrs.
Merivale! her hands go distractedly to her head at last, and sinking
into a chair she cries, "Oh, my _dear_ girls, do run away and leave
me now! You _promised_ not to worry me about the tableaux, and if
you _will_ persist in doing so I shall be completely prostrated
before the evening comes, and then what will you do? You have got
poor Miss Denison up there slaving for you, and I am sure she is a
host in herself. That's right, run away! Oh, _don't_ slam the door!
Now, cook, what is it?" and with a sigh of resignation the
unfortunate lady gives her attention to the final arrangements for
the supper.