Cursed by a Fortune

Mrs Wilton looked at her husband wonderingly, but he sat crumbling his bread and sipping his claret till the quiet, grave, elderly servant appeared.

“How is your mistress?” he said.

“Very unwell, sir.”

“Think the doctor need be sent for?”

“Well, no, sir, I hardly think that. She has been very much agitated.”

“Yes, of course; poor girl,” said Wilton, quietly.

“But I think she will be better after a good night’s rest, sir.”

“So do I, Eliza. You will see, of course, that she has everything she wants.”

“Oh, yes, sir. I did take her up some dinner, but I could not prevail upon her to touch it.”

“Humph! I suppose not. That will do, thank you. – No, no, Maria, there is no occasion to say any more.”

Mrs Wilton’s mouth was open to speak, but she shut it again quickly, fearing to raise another storm, and the maid left the room. But the mother would speak out as soon as they were alone.

“I should like to order a tray with one of the pheasants to be sent up to Claud, dear.”

“I daresay you would,” he replied. “Well, I shouldn’t.”

“May I send for Doctor Leigh?”

“What for? You heard what the woman said?”

“I meant for Claud, dear.”

“Oh, I’ll see to him in the morning. I shall have a pill ready for him when I’m cooled down. It won’t be so strong then.”

“But, James, dear – ”

“All right, old lady, I’m getting calm now; but listen to me. I mean this: you are not to go to his room to-night.”

“James!”

“Nor yet to Kate’s, till I go with you.”

“My dear James!”

“That’s me,” he said, with a faint smile, “and you’re a very good, affectionate, well meaning old woman; but if ever there was one who was always getting her husband into scrapes, it is you.”

“Really, dear!” she cried, appealingly.