'I don't care. It has nothing to do with me.' 'No, of course not.' 'I never heard anything so idiotic as having a wedding in the autumn. A most beastly time, I think--November fogs.' 'I heard something else,' said Edith, 'which surprised me much more. Fancy, Lord Selsey's going to be married--to Mrs Raymond. Isn't that extraordinary?' 'Lord Selsey--a widower! Disgusting! I thought he pretended to be so fond of his first wife.' 'He was, dear, I believe. But she died eighteen years ago, and--' 'Instead of telling me all this tittle-tattle it would be much better if you did as I asked you, Edith, and fetched me the cigarettes. I've asked you several times. Of course I don't want to make a slave of you. I'm not one of those men who want their wives to be a drudge. But, after all, they're only in the next room. It isn't a _very_ hard task! And I'm very weak, or I'd go myself.' She ran out and brought them back before he could stop her again. 'Who is this Mrs Raymond?' he then asked. 'Oh, she's a very nice woman--a widow. Really quite suitable in age to Lord Selsey. Not young. She's not a bit pretty and not in his set at all. He took the most violent fancy to her at first sight, it seems. She had vowed never to marry again, but he persuaded her.' 'Well,' said Bruce, striking a match, 'they didn't consult me! They must go their own way. I'm sorry for them, of course. Lord Selsey always seemed to me a very agreeable chap, so it seems rather a pity. At the same time, I suppose it's a bad thing--in the worldly sense--for Reeve, and _that's_ satisfactory.' 'Oh! I think he's all right, said Edith, and she smiled thoughtfully. 'You're always smiling, Edith,' he complained. 'Particularly when I have something to annoy me.' 'Am I? I believe I read in the "Answers to Correspondents" in _Home Chirps_ that a wife should always have a bright smile if her husband seemed depressed.' 'Good heavens! How awful! Why, it would be like living with a Cheshire cat!' Edith warmly began to defend herself from the accusation, when Bruce stopped her by saying that his temperature had gone up, and asking her to fetch the clinical thermometer. Having snatched it from her and tried it, he turned pale and said in a hollow voice-- 'Telephone to Braithwaite. At once. Say it's urgent. Poor little Edith!' 'What is it?' she cried in a frightened voice. 'I'd better not tell you,' he said, trying to hide it. 'Tell me--oh! tell me!' 'It's a hundred and nineteen. Now don't waste time. You meant no harm, dear, but you worried and excited me. It isn't your fault. Don't blame yourself. Of course, you _would_ do it.' 'Oh, I know what it is,' cried Edith. 'I dipped it in boiling water before I gave it to you.' 'Idiot! You might have broken it!' said Bruce.