“Oh,” he cried, in a choked voice, “don’t, Marian!”
She held his fingers close. “Poor Stacey!” she whispered. “It’s not your fault.”
Again she paused. And after a moment an elfish smile stirred her lips. “Do I look—a fright?” she asked.
“No—lovely.”
“Well, that’s good!” she murmured, with the ghost of a laugh. “Par—thenon.”
They were both silent for a while.
“Now I’m sleepy. You may—go. But first—kiss me, Stacey dear.”
He bent over and touched her white cheek with his lips, then rose slowly to his feet and made his way back unsteadily to the others.
“I don’t know,” he muttered hoarsely to the doctor. “You’d better feel her pulse.”
The doctor went quickly to the bed, then, after a moment, returned. “Just the same—or only a little weaker. She’s asleep,” he whispered.