But David Maynor's hand was in his pocket, and he was drawing forth his new seal-leather purse.
"I always pay as I go," he said stolidly. The corners of the doctor's mouth twitched, and a gleam of humor came into his eyes. "Ten dollars," he said, and while David Maynor was counting out the bills, the physician's quick glance was taking note of the expensive furniture and the utter absence of individuality, that gave the house the air of a hotel rather than a home. "The new rich," he thought with good-natured amusement, then aloud:
"Let me hear from your wife to-morrow, Mr. Maynor. But, as I said before, the case is in your hands. Good afternoon!" And with another courtly bow he was gone.
David Maynor hurried back up-stairs to his wife's bedside. "Sarah," he said, bending over her and smoothing her hair clumsily, "the doctor says there's not a thing the matter with you, except you've got something on your mind that's worrying you. He says he can't do much for you, and that I've got to find out what the trouble is and remove it, if I can."
Sarah Maynor turned her head restlessly on the pillow. "I must say he's got more sense than I thought he had," she said, with a nervous laugh. "I was afraid he'd go to dosing me with bitters and pills. He's exactly right: no doctor can cure me." Her voice broke, and she buried her face in the pillow.
A deep anxiety settled on David's rugged features. "Why, Sarah," he said, with tender reproach in his voice, "when did you get to hiding your troubles from me? Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you? You know you can have everything now that money can buy."
Sarah turned her face toward her husband. Her gray eyes were filled with tears, and her hands were clenched in an effort to control her feelings.
"That's just the trouble!" she cried, her voice rising into a wail. "You've given me everything that money buys, and I don't want anything except the things that love buys. I want to go back to Millville! I want to live in our own little cottage! I'm sick of this sort of life! I never was made to be a rich man's wife, and it's killing me! It's killing me! Oh! I know I'm ungrateful, Dave, but I can't help it!" Her voice broke in a storm of sobs. She covered her face with the bedclothes and shrank away from her husband's hand.
A look of profound relief lighted David Maynor's face. "Is that all?" he exclaimed. "And here I've been putting up with everything because I thought you were pleased! My gracious, Sarah! You don't hate this life any more than I do."
Sarah lifted her head from the pillow and searched his face with her tear-reddened eyes. "Dave Maynor," she said solemnly, "are you just saying that to please me, or is it the truth?"