“Do you know that you look cold?” he demanded. “I want you to look at these and hold them till you are warmed through and through. What an absurd child it is to look so chilly in July!”
She raised her eyes and let them rest on him with a sudden radiant expression of satisfaction.
“It is because you are so unkind as to go away—occasionally,” she remarked. “Do I ever look cold or unhappy or dissatisfied while you are here?”
“Once or twice in the last two weeks you have been all of that. Sweetheart, I must know what it means. Don’t you see you must tell me? How can one do anything for you when one doesn’t know what is the matter? And I am under orders to see that you get well forthwith. The doctor has given you up—to me!”
He was startled when, instead of the laughing answer for which he looked, she caught her breath with half a sob.
“Must I tell you?” she said. “Neil, I do not dare! When you are here I know it is not so. It is only when you are away from me that the hideous thought comes. And I fight it so! It is only because I am tired with fighting it that I do not get strong.”
“Dear, what can you mean?”
She shook her head.
“It is too horrible, and you would never forgive me, though I know it cannot be true. Oh, Neil, Neil, Neil!”
“Mildred, this is folly. I insist that you tell me at once.” His tone had lost its tender playfulness and was peremptory now. “Don’t you see that you are torturing me?” he said.