"I'm quite sure your husband is overdoing himself terribly," Lady Mildmay
went on. "I saw him the other day walking through the Park, and he looked
ghastly. I stopped him and told him so, but he said he'd just been to his
doctor, and that there was really nothing the matter with him."
"I didn't know he'd been to the doctor lately. He seemed pretty well for
him," said May. Aunt Maria said nothing; her keen little eyes were
watching the visitor very closely.
"I've seen a lot of illness," pursued Lady Mildmay in her gentle voice,
"and I know. He's working himself to death; he's killing himself." She
raised her eyes and looked at May. Kind as the glance was, May felt in it
a wonder, almost a reproach. "How comes it that you, his wife, haven't
seen it too?" the eyes seemed to say in plaintive surprise. "Are you sure
there's nothing wrong with him?" she asked.
"Wrong with him? What do you mean?" The question was Aunt Maria's, asked
abruptly, roughly, almost indignantly. Lady Mildmay started. "I--I don't
want to alarm you, I'm sure," she murmured, "but I don't like his looks.
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