Why did he ask her that? Her tongue felt dry, she hesitated a long moment before replying.
"I wouldn't be forced into anything," she said as naturally as she could. "As you've already got the symptoms considerably developed, it wouldn't be absolutely infallible, anyhow."
"That settles it. I won't have it at all."
She felt she ought to say something more, but was not sure how to set about it.
"Still, Roger, you are ill, you know, and you certainly ought to be in bed. There's no good that can come of walking about with a temperature."
"Well, once this is over"—she knew he meant the funeral—"if I don't feel any better, I'll take your advice. Only, somehow, I don't awfully like the idea of…"—he did not finish, but instead looked about him with a slight gesture of distaste.
"Why do you stay here?" she whispered quickly. "Why not go to a nursing-home."
His eyes met hers in a flash of sympathetic understanding.
"Would you come and see me there?" he asked seriously.
"Of course. I'd even nurse you, if you wanted me to," she answered simply.