"Oh, it's my skull," she said. "I'm so glad to have it again. I shall want it when I go back to Philadelphia."
His face fell.
"I thought you weren't going back."
"Of course I shall go back."
"But if you are homesick?"
"I shall get over it."
"And the clinics?"
"Nobody ever died of a clinic—except the patient," she said grimly.
He stood looking at her steadily, and any one but Phebe would have known the meaning of his expression; but she was examining the skull intently.
"You are sure you don't want it any longer?" she asked.