"Nothing that _I_ can deal with, as I told you, Madam," replied the
offended allopathic Knight.

Evidently he did not care about being invited to examine patients in
this surreptitious way before a teapot on the lawn, chance of a fee most
problematical. He liked to see a tongue and feel a thumping pulse; to
know the pedigree and bank account of his questioner as well. It was
most unusual, in abominable taste besides. Of course it was. But the
drowning woman seized the only straw she could.

For now the aggressive attitude of her husband overcame her to the point
where she found it difficult even to question him. Yet in the house he
was so kind and gentle, doing all he could to make her sacrifice as easy
as possible.

"David, you really _are_ unwise to go out now. The night is damp and
very chilly. The ground is soaked in dew. You'll catch your death of
cold."

His face lightened. "Won't you come with me, dear,--just for once? I'm
only going to the corner of the hollies to see the beech that stands so
lonely by itself."

She had been out with him in the short dark afternoon, and they had
passed that evil group of hollies where the gypsies camped. Nothing else
would grow there, but the hollies thrive upon the stony soil.

"David, the beech is all right and safe." She had learned his
phraseology a little, made clever out of due season by her love.
"There's no wind to-night."