“Won’t you? Why not? I think you should see Dr. Boas at once.”
“Well, then, I will to-morrow. Jim complains of his head—he often does, but now he says the pain is like a saw, and he can’t stand it. Then he imagines he is back in the Service, and expecting to be warned for parade or a court martial, and talks very strangely. Dr. Boas has gone away to a funeral, and won’t be back till to-night, and then I must confess Jim doesn’t like him; he likes no one but you, and some of the dogs—and me, of course,” she added, with a sickly smile.
“Shall I come in this evening?”
“Oh, do; you are a kind fellow! Even if he never speaks now, sure I know he loves to see you sitting there. Ah, here he is, and I must go and coax him to eat some dinner!”
To his visitor’s surprise, Captain Ramsay was unusually animated and talkative that night, and mentioned many little details about his father, and recalled certain daredevil deeds, acts of generosity, and even nascent love-affairs.
“I say, Owen, you remember the pretty girl up at Simla—the dark-eyed one you were so mad about—and how you swore you’d run away with her, and marry her in spite of her father, the General, and the whole family? Oh, of course I know—what a duffer I am! You eloped, tore down the hill by special dâk, and were married at Saharanpore. Where is she now?”
Wynyard made no reply. Captain Ramsay’s wandering memory had evidently evoked a vision of his dark-eyed and remarkably pretty mother. She had run away with the handsome Hussar officer, and had, in consequence, been cast off by her relations.
“Dead?” inquired the other after a pause.
Wynyard nodded.
“Ah, well, we shall all be dead one day—some sooner—and some later,” and he fell into one of his sudden silences.