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.