Something important between them came near the surface here, for
though she spoke with what seemed but a casual cheerfulness,
there was a little betraying break in her voice, a trembling just
perceptible in the utterance of the final word. And she still
kept up the affectation of being helpfully preoccupied with the
table, and did not look at her husband--perhaps because they had
been married so many years that without looking she knew just
what his expression would be, and preferred to avoid the actual
sight of it as long as possible. Meanwhile, he stared hard at
her, his lips beginning to move with little distortions not
lacking in the pathos of a sick man's agitation.

"So that's it," he said. "That's what you're hinting at."

"'Hinting?'" Mrs. Adams looked surprised and indulgent. "Why,
I'm not doing any hinting, Virgil."

"What did you say about my finding 'something good to get into?'"
he asked, sharply. "Don't you call that hinting?"

Mrs. Adams turned toward him now; she came to the bedside and
would have taken his hand, but he quickly moved it away from her.

"You mustn't let yourself get nervous," she said. "But of course
when you get well there's only one thing to do. You mustn't go
back to that old hole again."

"'Old hole?' That's what you call it, is it?" In spite of his
weakness, anger made his voice strident, and upon this stimulation