"You could not have put it in, Bede; it must be somewhere about."
"I am just as certain that I put it in, as I am that it is not there now."
Mr. Greatorex did not believe it. Bede had been for some time showing himself less the keen, exact man of business be used to be. Trifling mistakes, inaccuracies, negligences, would come to light now and again; vexing Mr. Greatorex beyond measure.
"I don't know what to make of you of late, Bede," he said after a pause. "You know the complaints we have been obliged to hear. These very title-deeds"--putting his hand on those just brought in--"it was you who examined and passed them. One negligence or another comes cropping up continually, and they may all be traced to you. Is your state of health the cause?"
"I suppose so," replied Bede, who felt conscious the reproach was merited.
"You had better take some rest for a time. If----."
"No," came the hasty interruption, as though the proposal were unpalatable. "Work is better for me than idleness. Put me out of harness, and I should knock up."
"Bede," said Mr. Greatorex, in a tone of considerate kindness, but with some hesitation, "it appears to me that you get more of a changed man day by day. You have not been the same since your marriage. I fear the cause, or a great portion of it, lies in her; I fear she gives you trouble. As you know, I have never spoken to you before of this; I have abstained from doing so."
A flush, that had shown itself in the clear olive face when Mr. Greatorex began to speak, faded to whiteness; the hand, that accidentally touched his father's, felt fevered in all its veins.
"At least, my wife is not the cause of my illness," he answered in a low tone.