She represented the
triumph of age. He had lived his life; he had buried two wives; he had
had children; he had made money; and yet here, when other men of his
years were thinking of making wills, and eating porridge, and waiting for
the Dark Policeman to come and arrest them for loitering, he was left a
magnificent piece of property like Tralee; and he had all the sources of
pleasure open to a young man walking the primrose path. He was living
right up to the last. Both his wives were gray-headed when they died--it
turned them gray to live with him; both had died before they were fifty;
and here he was the sole owner of a wonderful young head, with hair that
reached to the waist, with lips like cool fruit from an orchard-tree, and
the indescribable charm of youth and loveliness which the young
themselves never really understood. That was what he used to say to
himself; it was only age could appreciate youth and beauty; youth did not
understand.
Thus the Young Doctor's question roused in him something at once savage
and apprehensive. Of course he wanted Louise to live. Why should she not
live?
"Doesn't any husband want his wife to live!" he answered sullenly. "But I
want to know what ails her. What medicine you going to give her?"
"I don't know," the Young Doctor replied meditatively. "When she is quite
rid of this attack, I'll examine her again and let you know.
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