CHAPTER VI.
THE SKELETON IN SELWYN'S CUPBOARD After tea, Selwyn escorted Sara upstairs and introduced her to his wife.
Mrs.Selwyn was a slender, colourless woman, possessing the remnants of what must at one time have been an ineffective kind of prettiness.

She was a determinedly chronic invalid, and rarely left the rooms which had been set aside for her use to join the other members of the family downstairs.
"The stairs try my heart, you see," she told Sara, with the martyred air peculiar to the hypochondriac--the genuine sufferer rarely has it.
"It is, of course, a great deprivation to me, and I don't think either Dick"-- with an inimical glance at her husband--"or Molly come up to see me as often as they might.

Stairs are no difficulty to _them_." Selwyn, who invariably ran up to see his wife immediately on his return from no matter how long or how tiring a round of professional visits, bit his lip.
"I come as often as I can, Minnie," he said patiently.

"You must remember my time is not my own." "No, dear, of course not.

And I expect that outside patients are much more interesting to visit than one's own wife," with a disagreeable little laugh.
"They mean bread-and-butter, anyway," said Selwyn bluntly.
"Of course they do." She turned to Sara.