These letters brought just one lady, a Mrs. Turner, who talked to Rosa very glibly about herself, and amused Rosa twice:  at the third visit, Rosa tried to change the conversation.  Mrs. Turner instantly got up, and went away.  She could not bear the sound of the human voice, unless it was talking about her and her affairs.

And now Staines began to feel downright uneasy.  Income was going steadily out:  not a shilling coming in.  The lame, the blind, and the sick frequented his dispensary, and got his skill out of him gratis, and sometimes a little physic, a little wine, and other things that cost him money:  but of the patients that pay, not one came to his front door.

He walked round and round his little yard, like a hyena in its cage, waiting, waiting, waiting:  and oh! how he envied the lot of those who can hunt for work, instead of having to stay at home and wait for others to come, whose will they cannot influence.  His heart began to sicken with hope deferred, and dim forebodings of the future; and he saw, with grief, that his wife was getting duller and duller, and that her days dragged more heavily, far than his own; for he could study.

At last his knocker began to show signs of life:  his visitors were physicians.  His lectures on “Diagnosis” were well known to them; and one after another found him out.  They were polite, kind, even friendly; but here it ended:  these gentlemen, of course, did not resign their patients to him; and the inferior class of practitioners avoided his door like a pestilence.

Mrs. Staines, who had always lived for amusement, could strike out no fixed occupation; her time hung like lead; the house was small; and in small houses the faults of servants run against the mistress, and she can’t help seeing them, and all the worse for her.  It is easier to keep things clean in the country, and Rosa had a high standard, which her two servants could never quite attain.  This annoyed her, and she began to scold a little.  They answered civilly, but in other respects remained imperfect beings; they laid out every shilling they earned in finery; and, this, I am ashamed to say, irritated Mrs. Staines, who was wearing out her wedding garments, and had no excuse for buying, and Staines had begged her to be economical.  The more they dressed, the more she scolded; they began to answer.  She gave the cook warning; the other, though not on good terms with the cook, had a gush of esprit de corps directly, and gave Mrs. Staines warning.

Mrs. Staines told her husband all this:  he took her part, though without openly interfering; and they had two new servants, not so good as the last.

This worried Rosa sadly; but it was a flea-bite to the deeper nature, and more forecasting mind of her husband, still doomed to pace that miserable yard, like a hyena, chafing, seeking, longing for the patient that never came.

Rosa used to look out of his dressing-room window, and see him pace the yard.  At first, tears of pity stood in her eyes.  By and by she got angry with the world; and at last, strange to say, a little irritated with him.  It is hard for a weak woman to keep up all her respect for the man that fails.