“My dear doctor Townley:  You cannot think how rejoiced I am to receive the tidings of my husband’s convalescence.  I have been so tortured with anxiety during the last four weeks!  You cannot think how wretchedly anxious I have been.  I could not have endured to stay away from his bedside but that my duty imperatively required it.  I have lost flesh, and my anxiety has worn upon me.  Now, how gladly will I resume my place at the bedside of my husband, restored by your skill.  I am glad the nurse has proved faithful.  It was a good chance for her, for she shall be liberally paid, and no doubt the money will be welcome.  But don’t you think it might be more prudent for me to defer my return until next week?  It will be safer, I think, and I owe it to my boy to be very careful.  You know, the contagion may still exist.  It is hard for me to remain longer away, when I would fain fly to the bedside of Mr. Preston, but I feel that it is best.  Say to him, with my love, that he may expect me next week.  Accept my thanks for your attention to him.  I shall never forget it; and believe me to be, my dear doctor, your obliged
                                   “Lucinda Preston.”

Dr. Townley threw down this letter with deep disgust.

“Was ever any woman more disgustingly selfish?” he exclaimed.  “Her husband might have died, so far as she was concerned.”

Of course, he had to show this letter to Colonel Preston.

The latter read it, with grave face, and the doctor thought he heard a sigh.

“My wife is very prudent,” he said, with a touch of bitterness in his voice.

“She will be here next week,” said the doctor, having nothing else to answer.

“I think she will run no risk then,” said the sick man, cynically.

But Mrs. Preston did not return in a week.  It was a full week and a half before she arrived at her own house.

The doctor was just coming out of the front door.

“How is my husband?” she asked.

“Not far from well.  He is still weak, of course.”

“And are you sure,” she said, anxiously, “that there is no danger of infection?”

“Not the slightest, madam,” said Dr. Townley, coldly.

“I am so glad I can see him once more.  You cannot imagine,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “how much I have suffered in my suspense!”

The doctor remained cool and unmoved.  He didn’t feel that he could respond fittingly, being absolutely incredulous.

Mrs. Preston saw it, and was nettled.  She knew that she was a hypocrite, but did not like to have the doctor, by his silence, imply his own conviction of it.

“Mine has been a hard position,” she continued.

“Your husband has not had an easy time,” said the doctor, significantly.

“But he has had good care—­Mrs. Burke was a good nurse?”

“Admirable.”