turned them gray to live with him; both had died before they were fifty;
and here he was the sole owner of a wonderful young head, with hair that
reached to the waist, with lips like cool fruit from an orchard-tree, and
the indescribable charm of youth and loveliness which the young
themselves never really understood. That was what he used to say to
himself; it was only age could appreciate youth and beauty; youth did not
understand.

Thus the Young Doctor's question roused in him something at once savage
and apprehensive. Of course he wanted Louise to live. Why should she
not live?

"Doesn't any husband want his wife to live!" he answered sullenly.
"But I want to know what ails her. What medicine you going to give her?"

"I don't know," the Young Doctor replied meditatively. "When she is
quite rid of this attack, I'll examine her again and let you know."

Suddenly there shot into the greenish old eyes a reddish look of rage;
jealousy, horrible, gruesome jealousy, took possession of Joel Mazarine.
This young man to come in and go out of his wife's bedroom, to--Why
weren't there women doctors? He would get one over from the Coast, or
from Winnipeg, or else there was old Doctor Gensing, in Askatoon--who was
seventy-five at least. He would call him in and get rid of this
offensive young pill-maker.

"I don't believe there's anything the matter with her," he declared
stubbornly. "She's been healthy as a woman can be, living this life
here. What's her disease? I've asked you. What is it?"