The dressmaker kept her word.  By the time the blue dress was tried on, Madame Cie had, with the aid of a few pins, plaits, and a bow of blue ribbon, transformed the half lace shawl into one of the smartest and distingue things imaginable; but when the bill came in at Christmas, for that five minutes’ labor and distingue touch, she charged one pound eight.

Madame Cie then told the ladies, in an artfully confidential tone, she had a quantity of black silk coming home, which she had purchased considerably below cost price; and that she should like to make them each a dress—­not for her own sake, but theirs—­as she knew they would never meet such a bargain again.  “You know, Miss Lucas,” she continued, “we don’t want our money, when we know our customers.  Christmas is soon enough for us.”

“Christmas is a long time off,” thought the young wife, “nearly ten months.  I think I’ll have a black silk, Madame Cie; but I must not say anything to the doctor about it just yet, or he might think me extravagant.”

“No one can ever think a lady extravagant for buying a black silk; it’s such a useful dress; lasts forever—­almost.”

Days, weeks, and months rolled on, and with them an ever-rolling tide of flower-shows, dinners, at-homes, balls, operas, lawn-parties, concerts, and theatres.

Strange that in one house there should be two people who loved each other, yet their lives ran so far apart, except while they were asleep:  the man all industry, self-denial, patience; the woman all frivolity, self-indulgence, and amusement; both chained to an oar, only—­one in a working boat, the other in a painted galley.

The woman got tired first, and her charming color waned sadly.  She came to him for medicine to set her up.  “I feel so languid.”

“No, no,” said he; “no medicine can do the work of wholesome food and rational repose.  You lack the season of all natures, sleep.  Dine at home three days running, and go to bed at ten.”

On this the doctor’s wife went to a chemist for advice.  He gave her a pink stimulant; and, as stimulants have two effects, viz., first to stimulate, and then to weaken, this did her no lasting good.  Dr. Staines cursed the London season, and threatened to migrate to Liverpool.

But there was worse behind.

Returning one day to his dressing-room, just after Rosa had come down-stairs, he caught sight of a red stain in a wash-hand-basin.  He examined it; it was arterial blood.

He went to her directly, and expressed his anxiety.

“Oh, it is nothing,” said she.

“Nothing!  Pray, how often has it occurred?”

“Once or twice.  I must take your advice, and be quiet, that is all.”

Staines examined the housemaid; she lied instinctively at first, seeing he was alarmed; but, being urged to tell the truth, said she had seen it repeatedly, and had told the cook.

He went down-stairs again, and sat down, looking wretched.