It was characteristic of William to beg my pardon and withdraw his wife,
like some unsuccessful dish, as if its taste would not remain in the
mouth. I shall be chided for questioning him further about his
wife, but, though doubtless an unusual step, it was only bad form
superficially, for my motive was irreproachable. I inquired for his
wife, not because I was interested in her welfare, but in the hope of
allaying my irritation. So I am entitled to invite the wayfarer who has
bespattered me with mud to scrape it off.

I desired to be told by William that the girl's signals meant his
wife's recovery to health. He should have seen that such was my wish
and answered accordingly. But, with the brutal inconsiderateness of his
class, he said:

"She has had a good day; but the doctor, he--the doctor is afeard she is
dying."

Already I repented my questions. William and his wife seemed in league
against me, when they might so easily have chosen some other member.

"Pooh! the doctor," I said.

"Yes, sir," he answered.

"Have you been married long, William?"

"Eight years, sir. Eight years ago she was--I--I mind her when . . . and
now the doctor says--"