“You are not vexed with me, sir?” he had the hardihood to whisper.

“It was a liberty,” I said.

“I know, sir; but I was beside myself.”

“That was a liberty also.”

He hesitated, and then blurted out: 

“It is my wife, sir.  She—­”

I stopped him with my hand.  William, whom I had favoured in so many ways, was a married man!  I might have guessed as much years before had I ever reflected about waiters, for I knew vaguely that his class did this sort of thing.  His confession was distasteful to me, and I said warningly: 

“Remember where you are, William.”

“Yes, sir; but you see, she is so delicate—­”

“Delicate!  I forbid your speaking to me on unpleasant topics.”

“Yes, sir; begging your pardon.”

It was characteristic of William to beg my pardon and withdraw his wife, like some unsuccessful dish, as if its taste would not remain in the mouth.  I shall be chided for questioning him further about his wife, but, though doubtless an unusual step, it was only bad form superficially, for my motive was irreproachable.  I inquired for his wife, not because I was interested in her welfare, but in the hope of allaying my irritation.  So I am entitled to invite the wayfarer who has bespattered me with mud to scrape it off.

I desired to be told by William that the girl’s signals meant his wife’s recovery to health.  He should have seen that such was my wish and answered accordingly.  But, with the brutal inconsiderateness of his class, he said: 

“She has had a good day; but the doctor, he—­the doctor is afeard she is dying.”

Already I repented my questions.  William and his wife seemed in league against me, when they might so easily have chosen some other member.

“Pooh! the doctor,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

“Have you been married long, William?”

“Eight years, sir.  Eight years ago she was—­I—­I mind her when . . . and now the doctor says—­”

The fellow gaped at me.  “More coffee, sir?” he asked.

“What is her ailment?”

“She was always one of the delicate kind, but full of spirit, and—­and you see, she has had a baby lately—­”

“William!”

“And she—­I—­the doctor is afeard she’s not picking up.”

“I feel sure she will pick up.”

“Yes, sir?”

It must have been the wine I had drunk that made me tell him: 

“I was once married, William.  My wife—­it was just such a case as yours.”

“She did not get better sir?”

“No.”

After a pause he said, “Thank you, sir,” meaning for the sympathy that made me tell him that.  But it must have been the wine.

“That little girl comes here with a message from your wife?”

“Yes; if she nods three times it means my wife is a little better.”

“She nodded thrice to-day.”