"I did not. I instructed the fishmonger to send round some fresh fish." "Thought so!" said Quinney, as he attacked the cold beef. Unhappily, Mrs. Biddlecombe was beguiled into eating heartily of the mackerel, desiring to assert her faith in its freshness and her confidence in the fishmonger. Conversation languished. Presently, Quinney jumped to his feet and raced upstairs. He tapped at his wife’s door. The nurse opened it, and as she did so the husband heard a faint moan. "You can’t come in now," said the nurse. "I’m not coming in. You tell my wife, with my love, not to eat any mackerel, and don’t you touch it yourself, if you want to be fit and well to-night." He returned to the dining-room feeling, for the first time, that he had been of practical service to omnipotent woman! But the faint moan had destroyed his appetite. He told Mrs. Biddlecombe that he intended to walk up and down the garden. "You’ll be within call?" "Of course. Any notion when the doctor will be wanted?" "He may be wanted at any minute." "You may want him before Susan does!" He shut the door before the astonished lady could reply. *III* Alone in the garden so dear to Susan, so carefully tended by her, his torment began. The evening was warm, and the windows of Susan’s room were thrown wide open. All sounds floated out into the gathering twilight. Quinney sat down on a bench, and listened, palsied with misery. The time passed. He would walk about, and then sit down again, lighting his pipe and letting it go out half a dozen times before it was smoked. Once he ventured into the kitchen, where the sight of his face softened Maria. She was a spinster, but at least twenty-five years old. So Quinney blurted out: "Is it always like this?" "First time—yes," replied Maria. Finally, Mrs. Biddlecombe descended, and bade him fetch the doctor. She was not an observant woman, but even she, with her prejudices against all males, could not fail to mark the ravages of suffering. "My God!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "I didn’t know it was like this. I’ve heard her!" "I do not regret that!" replied Mrs. Biddlecombe, not unkindly, but with emphasis. "If I had my way all men and all big boys, too, should know what their mothers have suffered. They might be kinder to them." Dr. Ransome was fetched. He lived near the Close, in a comfortable red-brick house. It seemed to Quinney perfectly extraordinary that this man of vast experience in suffering should be so leisurely in his movements and speech. However, he managed to instil some of his confidence into the unhappy husband, assuring him that the case presented no untoward symptoms, and was likely to end happily in a few hours. A few hours! As they passed the wicket gate Dr. Ransome paused. "Mr. Quinney," he said gravely, "I advise you to go for a brisk walk. You can do nothing more." "But if my wife should want me?"