. A mistake on his part
would be a blow to his reputation. Besides making enemies of people
like the Henrys for nothing. If he had to lose them as patients, it
might as well be for a good solid reason, she told herself with a dash
of his own asperity. No, it was a case of either husband or friend. And
though she pitied Agnes from the bottom of her heart, yet there were
literally no lengths she would have shrunk from going to, to spare
Richard pain or even anxiety. And this led her on to wonder whether,
granted things were as he said, he had approached Mr. Henry in the most
discreet way. Could he not have avoided a complete break? She sat and
pondered this question till her head ached, finding herself up against
the irreconcilability of the practical with the ideal which complicates
a man's working life. What she belatedly tried to think out for her
husband was some little common-sense stratagem by means of which he
could have salved his conscience, without giving offence. He might have
said that the drugs he was prescribing would be nullified by the use of
wine or spirits; even better, have warned Agnes in private. Somehow, it
might surely have been managed. Mr. Henry had no doubt been extremely
rude and overbearing; but in earlier years Richard had known how to
behave towards ill-breeding. She couldn't tell why, but he was finding
it more and more difficult to get on with people nowadays. He certainly
had a very great deal to do, and was often tired out. Again, he did not
need to care so much as formerly whether he offended people or
not--ordinary patients, that was; the Henrys, of course, were of the
utmost consequence. Still, once on a time he had been noted for his
tact; it was sad to see it leaving him in the lurch. Several times of
late she had been forced to step in and smooth out awkwardnesses. But a
week ago he had had poor little Amelia Grindle up in arms, by telling
her that her sickly first-born would mentally never be quite like other
children. To every one else this had been plain from the outset; but
Amelia had suspected nothing, having, poor thing, no idea when a babe
ought to begin to take notice or cut its teeth. Richard said it was
better for her to face the truth betimes than to spend her life vainly
hoping and fretting; indeed, it would not be right of him to allow it.
Poor dear Richard! He set such store by truth and principle--and she,
Mary, would not have had him otherwise. All the same, she though