"I am too ill."
Mr. Lake felt annoyed. The proposed expedition had been presenting itself to his mind in a very agreeable light: for his wife to set her face against it, whether on the plea of ill-health or any other plea, would be especially provoking.
"My dear, I tell you what it is," he said in a voice that betrayed his temper, "you will fancy yourself ill and lie-by and stay at home, until it ends in your being ill."
"Do you think I am well?"
"You are not strong; but if you would rouse yourself, and go more out, and shake off fancies, you would soon become so. An illness, such as yours was in the autumn, leaves its weakening effects behind it as a matter of course; but there's no sense in giving way to them."
"I go out sometimes."
"Just for a walk or so; that does little good. What you want is cheerful society; change. You have not been once to Guild since we came home."
"You make up for it, then; you are there often enough."
She could not help the retort; it seemed to slip from her tongue unguided. Mr. Lake kicked out at a broken pot.
"Something or other is always happening to take me there. Mrs. Chester loads me with commissions, and I don't like to refuse to execute them."