and went on steadily making beds, picking up rooms, roasting beef, and suppressing the unreasonable irritation she felt over such natural and inevitable noises as Laetitia's heavy tread, Roddie's chronic cough, Phillip's sand-papering, and the whirr of Felix's saw.
In the privacy of his office, Dr. Evarts told Felix that Sheilah must get away to some restful place in the country, or by the sea, alone—or else—he shook his head. He had questioned Sheilah. He knew her history. He had talked over the telephone with her old doctor in Wallbridge. Nervous breakdowns had a tendency to repeat themselves, he told Felix. They were serious things. To be avoided. He went into detail. Oh, no, a week would scarcely do any good. Six weeks anyway. Better two months.
Felix, too, lay awake a good deal that June, on his couch in the dining-room, whither he had moved since Sheilah hadn't been feeling well, listening to the creak of the brass bed in the adjoining room, as Sheilah turned and tossed, watching for the disturbingly frequent glow of her light, his slow, laborious thoughts playing with frightening possibilities.
He must raise the money somehow! He visited frequently the shop in town where his furniture was sold. His 'chef-d'œuvre,' as Sheilah always referred
