When Stephen went away the Doctor went with her; it was more than an hour before he returned. He found his patient in what he considered a state of suppressed excitement; for, though his thoughts were manifestly collected and his words were calm, he was restless and excited in other ways. He had evidently been thinking of his own condition; for shortly after the Doctor came in he said:
‘Are we alone?’
‘Quite!’
‘I want you to arrange that there shall not be any nurse with me.’
‘My dear sir! Don’t handicap me, and yourself, with such a restriction. It is for your own good that you should have regular and constant attention.’
‘But I don’t wish it. Not for the present at all events. I am not accustomed to a nurse, and shall not feel comfortable. In a few days perhaps . . . ’ The decided tone of his voice struck the other. Keeping his own thoughts and intentions in abeyance, even to himself, he answered heartily:
‘All right! I shall not have any nurse, at present.’
‘Thanks!’ There was relief in the tone which seemed undue, and Mr. Hilton again took mental note. Presently he asked a question, but in such a tone that the Doctor pricked up his ears. There was a premeditated self-suppression, a gravity of restraint, which implied some falsity; some intention other than the words conveyed:
‘It must have been a job to carry me up those stairs.’ The Doctor was doubting everything, but as the safest attitude he stuck to literal truth so far as his words conveyed it:
‘Yes. You are no light weight!’ To himself he mused: