THE WEAKER VESSEL. 
445 
“ No money/’ said Mr. Gribble, laconically. 
“ And a mat for the bathroom.” 
Mr. Gribble got up and went out. 
She had to go to him for everything. Two 
hundred a year and not a penny she could 
call her own I She consulted her heart, and 
that faithful organ responded with a bound 
that set her nerves quivering. If she could 
only screw her courage to the sticking-point 
the question would be settled for once and all. 
White and trembling she sat at breakfast 
tremulously at the envelope, peeped inside it 
and, with her gaze fastened on the window, 
fumbled for her pocket. She was so pale and 
shook so much that the words died away on 
her husband’s lips. 
“ You — you had better let me take care of 
that,” he said, at last. 
“ It is — all right,” gasped his wife. 
She put her hand to her throat and, hardly 
able to believe in her victory, sat struggling 
for breath. Before her, grim and upright, 
“WITH HER. GAZE FASTENED ON THE WINDOW, SHE FUMBLED FOR HER POCKET.” 
on the first of November, waiting for the post- 
man, while the unconscious Mr. Gribble went 
on with his meal. The double-knocks down 
the road came nearer and nearer, and Mr. 
Gribble, wiping his mouth, sat upright with 
an air of alert and pleased interest. Rapid 
steps came to the front door, and a double 
bang followed. 
“ Always punctual,” said Mr. Gribble, 
good-humouredly. 
His wife made no reply, but, taking a blue- 
crossed envelope from the maid in her shaking- 
fingers, looked round for a knife. Her gaze 
encountered Mr. Gribble’s outstretched hand. 
“ After you,” he said, sharply. 
Mrs. Gribble found the knife, and, hacking 
her husband sat, a figure of helpless smoulder- 
ing- wrath. 
“You might lose it,” he said, at last. 
“ I sha’n’t lose it,” said his wife. 
To avoid further argument, she arose and 
went slowly upstairs. Through the doorway 
Mr. Gribble saw her helping herself up by the 
banisters, her left hand still at her throat. 
Then he heard her moving slowly about in 
the bedroom overhead. 
He took out his pipe and filled it mechani- 
cally, and was just holding a match to the 
tobacco when he paused and gazed with a 
puzzled air at the ceiling. “ Blamed if it 
don’t sound like somebody dancing ! ” he 
growled. 
