"You may see her there without before long," answered his wife, with a sigh.
"Eh! What! She's not worse, is she?"
"No; but she hasn't much life left in her. I'm afraid it's settling on her lungs. Her cough is something dreadful to hear, and tears her to pieces."
"It's milder weather, though, now, and that will make a difference before long. Now, I know what you're thinking of, my dear, and I won't have it. I told the fellow she wasn't fit to see anybody."
"Were you always ready to talk about me to everyone that came in your way, Richard?" asked his wife, with a good-humored smile.
"I don't call a lad's father and mother any one that comes in the way—though, I dare say, fathers and mothers are in the way sometimes," he added, with a slight sigh.
"Would you have talked about me to your own father, Richard?"
"Well, you see, I wasn't in his neighborhood. But my father was a—a—stiff kind of man to deal with."
"Not worse than Mr. Worboise, depend upon it, my dear."