"Ain’t you got some more riddles you would like to ask a person?" responded Mrs. Roper, with a bitter laugh. "How in gracious do _I_ know when the man will be in? ’E’s one of these _pleasant_ men, I tell you. The sort as is always ready with a laugh or a joke or a funny remark. ’E ain’t got time, bless you, to trouble ’is jolly self about no wives. ’E’s one of your ’appy men—the sort that makes friends, and so on. ’E would rather be out with ’is friends, ’e would, listenin’ to their flattery, than sit at ’ome ’ere with ’is lawful wife and ’ear the _truth_ about ’isself. ’E’s a plain man, too, and stammers ’orrible." "I think," suggested Dr. Brink, "that I shall have to call again when he is in, and talk things over with him. I can see," added my excellent and ambiguous friend, "that what you want is more attention." "What I want," retorted Mrs. Roper, "is me wooden ulster. The sooner the better. Attention won’t save me now—even if I could get it. I’m gone too far. And what is the use of a ’usband’s idea of attention? If you want to see the kind of attention ’e gives me, just cast your eye on the table there. Them things in the corner is supposed to be lemons. ’_E_ sent them in. _Look at ’em_! ’E on’y sent ’em ’cause I asked ’im, mind you. Is it much to ask, d’ye think, Doctor? And me at death’s door! Look at ’em, I say. They’re furrin lemons." There was a pause. Then said Mrs. Roper again, "They’re furrin lemons. I would say it to ’is face. I ask ’im on me death-bed for lemons and ’e sends me them! Furrin ones! Don’t you think they’re furrin, Doctor?" "I’m sure of it," replied the doctor. There was another pause, during which Mrs. Roper applied a variety of new and second-hand wearing apparel to her eyes. But the gift of articulation soon returned to her. "I," she explained, with biting irony, "am on’y ’is wife. _I_ ain’t jolly. _I_ don’t flatter ’im. _I_ don’t make a fuss of ’im. _I_ don’t make meself agreeable. _I’m_ on’y ’is wife. _I_ on’y tell ’im the truth. What does ’e wanter give good lemons to _me_ for?" "If you could let me know when he returns," submitted Dr. Brink, "I would talk these matters over with him. In the meantime, I will send you round some medicine, which——" "What’s the good of medicine to _me_?" demanded Mrs. Roper. "I’m on’y ’is wife. You go round to the undertaker’s, Doctor, and tell ’im to send me round a wooden ulster. That’s the on’y thing as’ll bring _me_ any peace. I ain’t one of your jolly sort, you see. _I_ don’t go round to me cousin Alfered’s and make meself agreeable and play nap. ’Is cousin Alfered’s, indeed! It isn’t ’is cousin Alfered as ’e goes to visit, Doctor; you take my word for _that_, Doctor; I s’pose I’m blind, eh, Doctor? An’ deaf an’ dumb an’ parulised? I s’pose I ain’t aware that cousin Alfered ’as got a wife? _A wife_! That’s what ’e calls ’er! If she’s a honest married woman, Doctor, ’ow d’you account for ’er bein’ ser very lovin’ to ’er ’usband?"