“Mrs. Wentworth,” he said at last, “the thing that is worrying Stanley is the fact that we had to decline him as a risk.“
“You—you didn’t insure him?” she said inquiringly, as if she did not quite comprehend.
“No.”
“He let me think you had.”
“Because he did not wish to distress you, and I assure you, Mrs. Wentworth, I would not tell you this myself, were it not for the fact that Stanley is doing the most unwise thing possible.”
“I am very glad you did tell me,” she said quietly. She was not an emotional woman, but the pallor of her face and something of anxious fright in her eyes told how deeply she felt. “What must I do?”
“Get him out of business and away from excitement,” replied Murray promptly. “In a quiet place, if he takes care of himself, he may live as long as any of us.”
When Wentworth reached home that evening, the little woman, always affectionate, greeted him with unusual tenderness. She said nothing of her visit to Murray, but later she brought up the subject of moving to the country.
“I’m dreadfully worried about you, Stanley,” she said. “You must take a vacation.”