"Nerves, Bingle--plain nerves. She'll be all right in a little while,
I'm sure. I'll have a look at her again next week. In the meantime,
don't pull such a long face. She is as sound as a dollar physically,
as you say. Leave her to me, old fellow. Don't cross her, don't let
her see too much of the children, and don't object to her going to
visit her mother in--where is it?--if she wants to do so. By the way,
Bingle, I wouldn't adopt any more children at present, if I were you.
Wait for a year or two and see how she feels about it."

"Would you advise a trip to Europe? We've been contemplating it for
the past ten years, but--I'm ashamed to admit it--we're both scared
out of our boots when we think of being out there on the Atlantic with
two or three miles of water under our beds every night and icebergs
floating all around us. We want to see Paris and London, of course.
Every one ought to see 'em if he can afford it. If you think it
advisable, I'll take her across this summer. Maybe if she got to Paris
she'd forget she ever wanted to go to Peekskill."

"I'll let you know what I think of it later on, Bingle. We'll see.
I've never seen your garden looking better than it looks this summer.
You have a treasure in that man Edgecomb. Come, let's stroll down to
the Italian--"

"Not just now, Doctor," said Mr. Bingle hastily. "I think Miss
Fairweather and Flanders are down there enjoying the shade and the
music of the fountain."

The servant question was another bothersome thing for him to contend
with. They were dissatisfied and on the point of leaving, especially