"There's nothing at all the matter with me but a slight bronchial
trouble," continued the other, coughing again. Then, to his
wife--"Dearest, won't you ring, please; I'm sure it's time for my toddy;
perhaps Mr. Lagrange will join me in a drink. What'll it be, Lagrange?"

"Nothing, thanks, at this hour."

"No? But you'll pardon me, I'm sure--Doctor's orders you know."

A servant appeared. Mrs. Taine took the glass and carried it to her
husband with her own hand, saying with tender solicitude, "Don't you
think, dear, that you should lie down for a while? Mr. Lagrange will
remain for dinner, you know. You must not tire yourself. I'm sure he will
excuse you. I'll manage somehow to amuse him until Jim and Louise return."

"I believe I will rest a little, Gertrude." He turned to the guest--"While
there is nothing really wrong, you know, Lagrange, still it's best to be
on the safe side."

"By all means," said the novelist, heartily. "You should take care of
yourself. Don't, I beg, permit me to detain you."

Mrs. Taine, with careful tenderness, accompanied her husband to the door.
When he had passed from the room, she faced the novelist, with--"Don't you
think Edward is really very much worse, Mr. Lagrange? I keep up
appearances, you know, but--" she paused with a charming air of perplexed
and worried anxiety.

"Your husband is certainly not a well man, madam--but you keep up
appearances wonderfully. I really don't see how you manage it. But I