"I dare say"—with admirable composure, though his heart is beginning to beat—"that I shall call in there on my way home to see Mrs. Greatorex."
"Mrs. Greatorex!"
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and peers at him insolently. In this position the detestable order of her gown becomes more apparent.
"Mrs. Greatorex, or her niece, eh?"
"I am not aware that Miss Nesbitt requires the services of any doctor. Where are these stamps?"
"No! Doesn't she? You seem as blind about her as you are about the finding of them stamps. And so it is Mrs. Greatorex you go to see three times a week? She pays you, I suppose?"
"Not now. Feeling herself better a little time ago, she told me to discontinue my visits. But I dislike leaving a cure half finished. So I told her I should still call occasionally. She is not very well off, as you are aware."
He said all this with the dry, business-like air of one who felt he was bound to speak, but then would do it as concisely as possible.
"She is well enough off to treat me as a nobody. Me—the wife of a man whose visits she accep's for nothing! She a pauper, and me who can ride in my carriage! Why, she wouldn't raise her eyes to mine if she could 'elp it. Can't see me sometimes, she can't. And so she's taking your time and your advice for nothing! and you give them, knowing how she treats your wife!"
The word "wife," so incessantly insisted on, seemed to grind his very soul. Yes, there she was, sodden, hideous, irredeemable, and —his wife!