CHAPTER V.

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.