THE LADIES' FLOBAL CABINET. 
201 
disease, which-was developing itself into a phase which 
he was pleased to call “ plantomaniaand not a little 
delighted was he to receive a telegram from his brother- 
in-law, who had been for some time past-with his regi¬ 
ment in India, saying that “ he is coming home as fast 
as ship and railway can bring him, and that he may be 
expected in London any daj'.” 
“He will, perhaps, be able to throw some light,” he 
thinks, “ on this extraordinary infatuation of Winnie’s, 
not only for watching and tending her plants, but for 
locking them up and thinking about them ceaselessly.” 
But Captain Verschoyle is not more able to account 
for his sister’s pecidiar mania than is her perplexed hus¬ 
band ; and after many conversations between them on 
the subject and much confabulation, they agree to con¬ 
sult the family doctor. Dr. Jones, however, laughs at 
theii' surmises, and pooh-poohs their fears. 
“ He has knoivn Winnie ever since she was a baby; 
he’ll guarantee liis reputation that there is nothing mad 
about her.” 
So he says ; but when he comes to see her, at her hus¬ 
band’s suggestion, the pained anxious expression of her 
face, once so bright and smiling, the restraint of her 
manner, once so lively and gay, staggers even the belief 
of the faithful old Hippocrates. What can it possibly 
mean? 
“Look here, Mrs. Winifred”—he had always called 
her Mrs. Winifred since she married—“ look here, Mrs. 
Winifred, I believe the odor of these flowers is making 
you look thin and wan. I shall tell your husband to 
have them all carried away, and that little ugly con¬ 
servatory pulled down.” 
“ No, Dr. Jones, no. I wnsh to Heaven it had never 
been built; but to take it down would be worse than 
death to me.” 
“I do not understand,” said he, watcliing her keenly 
as he spoke, 
“No, perhaps not; but plants are such a "worry : they 
always die when you want them.to flower. I am very 
sorry I asked for them, I was so much happier before I 
had them.” 
The doctor was nonplussed, and began to think, "with 
her husband and brother, that the woiiy these flowers 
occasioned her must be tire result of a weak mind. 
To his repeated suggestion, however, that if they 
were troublesome to her, the wiser course would be to 
get rid of them, she persistently offered the most deter¬ 
mined opposition. 
Altogether, Winifred’s conservatory was a puzzle to 
these three men’s heads, the like of wdiich they had 
never preriously been called on to solve. She was per¬ 
fectly sane, perfectly coherent, perfectly -wise .on every 
subject, except about these carefully-tended plants. 
What course,' then, remained to those who were inter¬ 
ested in her, save to nnagine she was afflicted -with 
monomania? 
The Winter passed; Spring, with bright days and 
sharp winds, came at last, and brought once more a se¬ 
ries of countless invitations for Winifred and Arnold 
Moreton; for they were in good society, though their 
means were soniewhat limited; and Winifred, more¬ 
over, was a beauty. Nothing, however, had the effect 
of distracting her from what appeared to be the one 
sole amusement in her life—tending the flowers in her 
conservatory. 
In the first week in May there was a reception given 
by Lady Olive Farnliam. The Moretons were there; 
and Winifred, in a pale-pink erdpe, wliich Arnold had 
insisted on ordering from Paris for the occasion, was 
siuTOunded by admirers; in fact, she was on the 
straight path for becoming a fashionable beauty—a 
state of affairs to which Arnold wotdd especially have 
objected, had he not been in a frame of mind to hail 
with joy any event which would make Winifred forget 
to devote herself to that hateful conservatory. She 
seemed to be enjoying herself to the very utmost; and 
Arnold felt quite happy. 
While she was standing talking to a distinguished 
French diplomat, the color suddenly forsook her cheeks, 
and she looked as if she were going to faint. Arnold, 
who had been watching her at a little distance, was at 
her side in a moment. 
“My dearest Winnie, what is the, matter?” he ex¬ 
claimed. ^ 
“ O Arnold, the Wodehouses—how dreadful!” 
He looked roimd, but he saw no one, heard nothing 
that could give him any clue to her meaning. 
“Would you like to go home ?” he asked, 
“Yes, please.” 
He took her down-stairs, and called for the carriage. 
It was not till they were seated in it that she told him 
that while she was talking to M. de Merman, she over¬ 
heard, from a conversation that was going on behind 
her, that Mr. Wodehouse was locked up in a French 
Ijrison for some bubble-share transactions, in which he 
had been concerned in connection with a South Ameri¬ 
can railway, and that lirs. Wodehouse was dead. 
Arnold Moreton was not an unfeeling man, and he 
was truly sorry for this heavy affliction which had fallen 
on the family of his old friends. StUl he could not 
be brought to understand why Winifred should be so 
desperately upset by it; for no sooner had she been re¬ 
leased from her finery by her maid than she threw her¬ 
self on her sofa, sobbing con"vulsively, and by turns re¬ 
joicing and lamenting over what had happened. Arnold 
grew angry for the first time in his life, really angry 
with his little wife. 
Dr. Jones had more than once recommended a certain 
amoimt of discreet -wrath; for the first time, to-night 
he felt inclined to follow his advice. 
He represented to Winifred that she was by no means 
fulfilling the mission that either love or duty imposed, 
wounding her sensitiveness, too, not a little, by telling 
her that, while he did everything he could to give her 
pleasure, she seemed to take a tacit delight in receiving 
all his advances with indifference—nay, almost "with 
contempt. 
His words went like a sharp dagger into poor Win¬ 
nie’s heart; but still she offered no word of explanation; 
only after a while she raised her tear-stained face from 
the sofa-cushion on which she had hidden it, and looked 
at Arnold with her large swollen eyes. 
“ One more favor, dearest. I know I do not deserve 
it; but you "will grant me one more, will you not ?” 
“ What is it, my love? You know I shall be delighted 
to give you anything in reason that will make you 
happy.” 
"Send for Blanche Wodehouse, and let her come and 
stay with us.” 
Arnold’s brow contracted into a frown. It was not 
that he objected to Blanche Wodehouse coming to stay 
with tliem, but that he was totally at a loss to conjee- 
