“I wish we might,” said her aunt.

Esther went her way and thought no more of the orphan, but Mrs. Murray carried the weight of all New York on her mind.  Not the least of her anxieties was the condition of her brother-in-law, Esther’s father.  He was now a confirmed invalid, grateful for society and amusement, and almost every day he expected his sister-in-law to take him to drive, if the weather was tolerable.  The tax was severe, but she bore it with heroism, and his gratitude sustained her.  When she came for him the next morning, she found him reading as usual, and waiting for her.  “I was just wondering,” said he, “whether I could read five minutes longer without a stimulant.  Do you know that indiscriminate reading is a fiendish torture.  No convict could stand it.  I seldom take up a book in these days without thinking how much more amusing it would be to jolt off on a bright day at the head of a funeral procession.  Between the two ways of amusing one’s-self, I am principled against books.”

“You have a very rough way of expressing your tastes,” said Mrs. Murray with a shiver, as they got into her carriage.  “Do you know, I never could understand the humor of joking about funerals.”

“That surprises me,” said Mr. Dudley.  “A good funeral needs a joke.  If mine is not more amusing than my friends’, I would rather not go to it.  The kind of funeral I am invited to has no sort of charm.  Indeed, I don’t know that I was ever asked to one that seemed to me to show an elegant hospitality in the host.”

“If you can’t amuse me better, William, I will drive you home again,” said his sister-in-law.

“Not quite yet.  I have something more to say on this business of funerals which is just now not a little on my mind.”

“Are you joking now, or serious?” asked Mrs. Murray.

“I cannot myself see any humor in what I have to say,” replied Mr. Dudley; “but I am told that even professional humorists seldom enjoy jokes at their own expense.  The case is this.  My doctors, who give me their word of honor that they are not more ignorant than the average of their profession, told me long ago that I might die at any moment.  I knew then that I must be quite safe, and thought no more about it.  Their first guess was wrong.  Instead of going off suddenly and without notice, as a colonel of New York volunteers should, I began last summer to go off by bits, as though I were ashamed to be seen running away.  This time the doctors won’t say any thing, which alarms me.  I have watched myself and them for some weeks until I feel pretty confident that I had better get ready to start.  All through life I have been thinking how I could best get out of it, and on the whole I am well enough satisfied with this way, except on Esther’s account, and it is about her that I want to consult you.”

Mrs. Murray knew her brother-in-law too well to irritate him by condolence or sympathy.  She said only:  “Why be anxious?  Esther can take care of herself.  Perhaps she will marry, but if not, she has nothing to fear.  The unmarried women nowadays are better off than the married ones.”