thoughtfully. “But I do hope they won’t feel I am asking too much. When I think of it, to placidly request that they take an invalid and his servant to board for a year, is a good deal.”
“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Allen. “You can pay them well; and, really, James, if Fred would only rouse himself, he would be as well as ever. He makes a good deal out of his blindness.”
“Why, Louise, what do you mean? I have never heard him complain.”
“No, he doesn’t complain, exactly, but he just lies on the sofa, and doesn’t care for anything or anybody, and when I try to comfort him, he turns away his face and won't say anything. But I’m sleepy. I’m going to bed; and you just write that note to-night, so they will get it to-morrow, surely.” And she went away, leaving her husband to muse over his cigar, in the light of the dying fire.
His wife was trying, at times. Years ago he had married a pretty little society girl, not so much because he loved her as that he wished a suitable head for his pleasant suburban home. Socially, Louise Allen fulfilled all the require-
