Mr. Heriton came to her side directly with affectionate solicitude.
“Dear Emma, I have worried you, haven’t I? You’re not feeling so well. Did you have a drive to-day?”
“No, I scarcely felt equal to it.”
“Ha! That carriage is not easy enough. I saw a new patent advertised in the Times expressly adapted for invalids. I’ll have one down for you.”
“Pray don’t!” said Mrs. Heriton earnestly. “I am very well satisfied with the one I have; and, indeed, Richard, it troubles me when you go to such needless expense.”
He patted her shoulder.
“Pooh—pooh! Do I ever begrudge anything that will add to your comfort?”
“No, never. But, Richard, dear, when I think of the enormous outlay of the last few years, I will confess that it frightens me. No, don’t go away. I have wanted to say this to you for some time. Do tell me frankly—are we not exceeding our income? Is not that the cause of the secret anxiety that I am sure is preying upon you?”
She had got both his hands in hers, and was looking so eagerly in his face that he was obliged to reply:
“Nonsense, love! You are too fearful. There is nothing amiss. The improvements will pay for themselves in a little while. I am somewhat pressed for ready money—yes, I don’t mind confessing that to you. But it’s nothing—absolutely nothing. Every gentleman of enterprise has to contend with such inconveniences occasionally. And I have been embarking rather largely in a capital speculation.”