`` What is the matter with him ? '' `` Typhoid , '' answered Amelia briefly . She felt relieved that Emily had taken it so calmly . Amelia hated Stephen Fair with all the intensity of her nature because she believed that he had treated Emily ill , but she had always been distrustful that Emily in her heart of hearts loved her husband still . That , in Amelia Phillips ' opinion , would have betrayed a weakness not to be tolerated . Emily looked at the lamp unwinkingly . `` That wick needs trimming , '' she said . Then , with a sudden recurrence of the untuneful note : `` Is he dangerously ill ? '' `` We have n't heard for three days . The doctors were not anxious about him Monday , though they said it was a pretty severe case . '' A faint , wraith-like change of expression drifted over Emily 's beautiful face and was gone in a moment . What was it -- relief ? Regret ? It would have been impossible to say . When she next spoke her vibrant voice was as perfectly melodious as usual . `` I think I will go to bed , Amelia . John will not be back until late I suppose , and I am very tired . There comes the rain . I suppose it will spoil all the flowers . They will be beaten to pieces . ''
In the dark hall Emily paused for a moment and opened the front door to be cut XXXXX the face with a whip-like dash of rain .
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