She does nothing but indulge in fretful regrets over her broken health.

When I remember, too, how lonely your days are, and think of your husband and what he might make of them, then I cannot help realising with absolute vividness the supreme irony of fate.

Here am I, craving for nothing so much on earth as the sympathy, the affection of--shall I say such a woman as you?
And your husband, who might have the best, remains utterly indifferent, content with something far below the second best.

And there is so much in life, too," he went on, regretfully.

"I cannot tell you how difficult it is for me to sit still and see you worried about such a trifle as money.