in spite of comforting assurances during the next few days, she cried in private from the conviction that her husband was not suffering from bodily illness merely, but from something that afflicted his mind. He would not allow her to read to him, and scarcely to sit with him, alleging nervous susceptibility to sounds and movements; yet she suspected that in shutting himself up in his private room he wanted to be busy with his papers. Something, she felt sure, had happened. Perhaps it was some great loss of money; and she was kept in the dark. Not daring to question her husband, she said to Lydgate, on the fifth day after the meeting, when she had not left home except to go to church—
"Mr Lydgate, pray be open with me: I like to know the truth. Has anything happened to Mr Bulstrode?"
"Some little nervous shock," said Lydgate, evasively. He felt that it was not for him to make the painful revelation.
"But what brought it on?" said Mrs Bulstrode, looking directly at him with her large dark eyes.
"There is often something poisonous in the air of public rooms," said Lydgate. "Strong men can stand it, but it tells on people in proportion to the delicacy of their systems. It is often impossible
