444 
THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 
The doctor finished at last, and, fastening 
his bag, stood with his beard in his hand, 
pondering. He looked from the little, white- 
faced woman on the bed to the bulky figure 
of Mr. Cribble. 
“ You had better lie up for a week,” he 
said, decidedly. “ The rest will do you good.” 
“ Nothing serious, 1 s’pose ? ” said Mr. 
Cribble, as he led the way downstairs to the 
small parlour. 
“ She ought to be all right with care,” was 
the reply. 
“ Care ? ” repeated the other, distastefully. 
“ YVhat’s the matter with her ? ” 
“ She’s not very strong,” said the doc or ; 
“ and hearts don’t improve with age, you 
know. Under favourable conditions she’s 
good for some years yet. The great thing is 
never to thwart her. Let her have her own 
way in everything.” 
“ Own way in everything ? ” repeated the 
dumbfounded Mr. Cribble. 
The doctor nodded. “ Never let her worry 
about anything,” he continued ; “ and, 
above all, never find fault with her.” 
“ Not,” said Mr. Cribble, thickly — “ not 
even for her own good ? ” 
“ Unless you want to run the risk of losing 
her.” 
Mr. Cribble shivered. 
“ Let her have an easy time,” said the 
doctor, taking up his hat. “ Pamper her 
a bit if you like ; it won’t hurt her. Above 
all, don’t let that heart of hers get excited.” 
He shook hands with the petrified Mr. 
Cribble and went off, grinning wickedly. He 
had few favourites, and Mr. Cribble was not 
one of them. 
For two days the devoted husband did 
the housework and waited on the invalid. 
Then he wearied, and, at his wife’s suggestion, 
a small girl was engaged as servant. She 
did most of the nursing as well, and, having a 
great love for the sensational, took a grave 
view of her mistress’s condition. 
It was a relief to Mr. Cribble when his wife 
came downstairs again, and he was cheered 
to see that she looked much better. His 
satisfaction was so marked that it brought 
on her cough again. 
“ It’s this house, I think,” she said, with a 
resigned smile. “ It never did agree with 
me.” 
“ Well, you’ve lived in it a good many 
years,” said her husband, controlling himself 
with difficulty. 
“ It’s rather dark and small,” said Mrs. 
Gribble. “Not but what it is good enough 
for me. And I dare say it will last my time.” 
“ Nonsense ! ” said her husband, gruffly. 
“ You want to get out a bit more. You’ve 
got nothing to do now we are wasting all this 
money on a servant. Why don’t you go out 
for little walks ? ” 
Mrs. Gribble went, after several promptings, 
and the fruit of one of them was handed 
by the postman to Mr. Gribble a few days 
afterwards. Half-choking with wrath and 
astonishment, he stood over his trembling 
wife with the first draper’s bill lie had ever 
received. 
“ One pound two shillings and threepence 
three-farthings ! ” he recited. “ It must be 
a mistake. It must be for somebody else.” 
Mrs. Gribble, with her hand to her heart, 
tottered to the sofa and lay there with her 
eyes closed. 
“ I had to get some dress material,” she 
said, in a quavering voice. “ You want me to 
go out, and I’m so shabby I’m ashamed to be 
seen.” 
Air. Gribble made muffled noises in his 
throat ; then, afraid to trust himself, he went 
into the back-yard and, taking a seat on an 
upturned bucket, sat with his head in his 
hands peering into the future. 
The dressmaker’s bill and a bill for a new 
hat came after the next monthly payment ; 
and a bill for shoes came a week later. Hoping 
much from the well-known curative effects of 
fine feathers, he managed to treat the affair 
with dignified silence. The only time he 
allowed full play to his feelings Mrs. Gribble 
took to her bed for two days, and the doctor 
had a heart-to-heart talk with him on the 
doorstep. 
It was a matter of great annoyance to him 
that his wife still continued to attribute her 
ill-health to the smallness and darkness of the 
house ; and the fact that there were only 
two of the houses in Charlton Grove left 
caused a marked depression of spirits. It 
was clear that she was fretting. The small 
servant went further, and said that she was 
fading away. 
They moved at the September quarter, and 
a slight, but temporary, improvement in Mrs. 
Cribble’s health took place. Her cheeks 
flushed and her eyes sparkled over new 
curtains and new linoleum. The tiled hearths 
and stained glass in the front door filled her 
with a deep and solemn thankfulness. The 
only thing that disturbed her was the fact 
that Mr. Cribble, to avoid wasting money 
over necessaries, contrived to spend an 
unduly large portion on personal luxuries. 
“ We ought to have some new things for 
the kitchen,” she said one day. 
