She did not speak or move; she tried to smile, but her eyes filled, her lips quivered.
“My dear madam,” exclaimed the physician, in a low voice, “what brought you here?”
The answer was inarticulate, but he saw it on the moving lips.
“Want,” said Mary.
“But your husband?” He stooped to catch the husky answer.
“Home.”
“Home?” He could not understand. “Not gone to—back—up the river?”
She slowly shook her head: “No, home. In Prieur street.”
Still her words were riddles. He could not see how she had come to this. He stood silent, not knowing how to utter his thought. At length he opened his lips to speak, hesitated an instant, and then asked:—
“Mrs. Richling, tell me plainly, has your husband gone wrong?”