Have you been married long, William?"

"Eight years, sir. Eight years ago she was--I--I mind her when--and now
the doctor says----"

The fellow gaped at me. "More coffee, sir?" he asked.

"What is her ailment?"

"She was always one of the delicate kind, but full of spirit, and--and
you see she has had a baby lately----"

"William!"

"And she--I--the doctor is afeard she's not picking up."

"I feel sure she will pick up."

"Yes, sir?"

It must have been the wine I had drunk that made me tell him:

"I was once married, William. My wife--it was just such a case as
yours."

"She did not get better, sir?"

"No."

After a pause, he said, "Thank you, sir," meaning for the sympathy that
made me tell him that. But it must have been the wine.

"That little girl comes here with a message from your wife?"

"Yes; if she nods three times, it means my wife is a little better."

"She nodded thrice to-day."

"But she is told to do that to relieve me, and maybe those nods don't
tell the truth."

"Is she your girl?"

"No, we have none but the baby. She is a neighbor's. She comes twice a
day."

"It is heartless of her parents not to send her every hour."

"But she is six years old," he said, "and has a house and two sisters
to look after in the daytime, and a dinner to cook. Gentlefolk don't
understand."

"I suppose you live in some low part, William."

"Off Drury Lane," he answered, flushing; "but--but it isn't low. You
see, we were never used to anything better, and I mind, when I let her
see the house before we were married, she--she a sort of cried, because
she was so proud of it. That was eight years ago, and now,--she's
afeard she'll die when I'm away at my work."

"Did she tell you that?"

"Never. She always says she is feeling a little stronger."

"Then how can you know she is afraid of that?"

"I don't know how I know, sir, but when I am leaving the house in the
morning I look at her from the door, and she looks at me, and then I--I
know."

"A green Chartreuse, William!"

I tried to forget William's vulgar story in billiards, but he had
spoiled my game. My opponent, to whom I can give twenty, ran out when I
was sixty-seven, and I put aside my cue pettishly. That in itself was
bad form, but what would they have thought had they known that a
waiter's impertinence caused it! I grew angrier with William as the
night wore on, and next day I punished him by giving my orders through
another waiter