"It wasn't what she said, it was the way she talked about the woman. Her husband says she's a great beauty."
"Ah, the husband says so, does he?" Tate remarked dryly. A moment later he added: "I wish you hadn't had anything to do with those people!"
"You've said that a dozen times, Percy, and I wish you'd stop. For my part, I'm very glad I've met them. If I hadn't, that poor little creature would be in her grave before the end of a year."
"Perhaps she'll wish that she were in her grave before the end of the year."
"Nothing, dear, nothing. Don't catch at everything I say. How is she now—any better? I suppose she's easier in mind now that she's going to stop that diving?"
"That's the strangest thing about it," Mrs. Tate answered, with a change of tone. "I thought she would be, too, but she isn't. I really believe she's sorry she's giving it up. But perhaps that's because she's been doing it all her life. She'll miss it at first—even if it did worry her nearly to death!"
"Has Dr. Broughton been to see her lately?"
"No; he said it wouldn't be necessary. He's going to wait to see what effect the rest from the diving will have on her."
For a few moments Tate looked thoughtfully at his wife. "Upon my word," he said, "I half suspect that you want something to happen to that little woman. It would just be romantic enough to suit you."