defiance of the "covenances" allowed nowadays to the married woman. On such occasions, growing each week more frequent, her sister Ethelwynn remained at home to see that Mr. Courtenay was properly attended to by the nurse, and exhibited a patience that I could not help but admire. Yes, the more I reflected upon it the more curious seemed that ill-assorted ménage. On her marriage Mary Mivart had declared that her new home in Devonshire was deadly dull, and had induced her indulgent husband to allow her sister to come and live with her, and Ethelwynn and her maid had formed part of the household ever since. We doctors, providing we have not a brass plate in lieu of a practice, see some queer things, and being in the confidence of our patients, know of many strange and incomprehensible families. The one at Richmond Road was a case in point. I had gradually seen how young Mrs. Courtenay had tired of her wifely duties, until, by slow degrees, she had cast off the shackles altogether--until she now thought more of her new frocks, smart suppers at the Carlton, first-nights and "shows" in Mayfair than she did of the poor suffering old man whom she had not so long ago vowed to "love, honour and obey." It was to be regretted, but in my position I had no necessity nor inclination to interfere. Even Ethelwynn made no remark, although this sudden breaking forth of her sister must have pained her considerably. When at length I shook hands with my patient, left him in the hands of the nurse and descended to the drawing room, I found Ethelwynn awaiting me. She rose and came forward, both her slim white hands outstretched in glad welcome. "Short told me you were here," she exclaimed. "What a long time you have been upstairs. Nothing serious, I hope," she added with a touch of anxiety, I thought."Nothing at all," I assured her, walking with her across to the fire and seating myself in the cosy-corner, while she threw herself upon a low lounge chair and pillowed her dark head upon a big cushion of yellow silk. 

"Where is Mary?" I asked. 

"Out. She's dining with the Hennikers to-night, I think." 

"And leaves you at home to look after the invalid?" I remarked. 

"Oh, I don't mind in the least," she declared, laughing. 

"And the old gentleman? What does he say to her constant absence in the evening?" 

 Prev. P 8/194 next