"Do you think could we not have dinner put on a little earlier, eh?"
A cry from the open door startled them. The sympathetic widow, her black eyes dilated, was gazing at the patient.
"Heriot!" she exclaimed, and there was a note in her voice that came very near to damping the junior partner's enthusiasm at finding the head of his firm restored to him.
"Yes, Madge," said Mr. Walkingshaw, his beatific smile still blander, "I have indeed been spared."
He drew another deep whiff from his cigar, and added gently—
"For maybe a few more years of quiet usefulness."