It was impossible to hide from Plunkett the state of his wife's health. "I don't know what has come over you both," he said in perplexity several times.
During three or four days Marigold managed to evade his inquiries, though all the time she felt that he ought to know, that he had a right to be told. Then he came in, unexpectedly, at an unusual hour, and found his wife lying on the little sofa, suffering greatly. The truth was allowed to slip out, though not without some pressure on his part.
In his own fashion, Plunkett was much moved.
Ill-tempers on her part had deadened affection on his; but the fact of so terrible a cause for her ill-tempers swept away all possibility of vexation. Marigold herself had not shown greater pity than Plunkett on first hearing the news; and Mrs. Plunkett burst into tears as she said:
"You're both a deal too kind to me."
"But I say I'll have you see a doctor, Jane; that's certain," observed her husband.
"No, no, I don't want doctors nor nothing; only just to be left in peace. I can't stand what they'd say nor do. Marigold 'll nurse me, and that's all I want."
Plunkett shook his head. "Won't do, Jane! Won't do at all! It wouldn't be right," he said. "Marigold's a clever lass, but she ain't a doctor; and I couldn't have you go on like this. Couldn't think of such a thing. A doctor won't do nothing without you consent to it; but I'll have an opinion before you are many days older. I'll ask Mrs. Heavitree who'd be best to go to. She's sure to know all about it, and you needn't be afraid. She won't talk, neither. It ain't her way to tell folk's troubles to other folk."
"I don't want to see no doctor. I'd rather not," pleaded Mrs. Plunkett, less resolutely than before.
"Well, then, you'll have to do it for my sake, and for Marigold's, not for your own," said Plunkett.