ll." She turned to him her sombre, tragic face.
"Walter--whatever you do, don't ask me to leave Edie, for I can't."

"Why not?" he asked gently.

"Because I love her. And it's--it's the only thing."

"I see," he said; and left her.

He went back to Edith. She smiled at his disarray and enquired the cause
of it. He entertained her with an account of his labours.

"How funny you must both have looked," said Edith, "and, oh, how funny
the poor drawing-room must feel."

"The fact is," said Majendie gravely, "I don't think she's very well. I
shall get her to see Gardner."

"I would, if I were you."

He wrote to Dr. Gardner that night and told Anne what he had done. She
was indignant, and expounded his anxiety as one more instance of his
failure to understand her nature. But she did not refuse to receive the
doctor when he called the next morning.

When Majendie came back from the office he found his wife calm, but
disposed to a terrifying reticence on the subject of her health. "It's
nothing--nothing," she said; and that was all the answer she would give
him. In the evening he went round to Thurston Square to get the truth out
of Gardner.

He stayed there an hour, although a very few words sufficed to tell him
that his hope had become a certainty. The President of the Scale
Philosophic Society had cast off all his vagueness. His wandering eyes
steadied themselves to grip Majendie as they had gripped Majendie's
wife. To Gardner Majendie, with his consuming innocence and anxiety, was,
at the moment, by far the more interesting of the two. The doctor brought
all his grave lucidity to bear on Majendie's case, and sent him away
unspeakably consoled; giving him a piece of advice to take with him. "If
I were you," said he, "I wouldn't say anything about it until she speaks
to you herself. Better not let her know you've consulted me."

In one hour Majendie had learnt more about his wife than he had found out
in the year he had lived with her; and the doctor had found out more
about Majendie than he had learnt in the ten years he had been practising
in Scale.

And upstairs in her drawing-room, little Mrs. Gardner waited impatiently
for her husband to come back and finish the very interesting conversation
that Majendie had interrupted.

"Who is the fiend," she said, "who's been keeping you all this time? One
whole hour he's been."

"The fiend, my dear, is Mr. Majendie." The doctor's face was thoughtful.

"Is he ill?