"I don't care about that," he muttered. He was looking at her, peering in the half-blind fashion he used towards her. "Helen—I was awake half the night."
She stared at him. It would not have troubled her if he had never slept again. It was absurd of him to think she cared whether he slept or waked.
"Thinking of you—" he added, and seemed to wait for some reward.
"I am going in," was all she said.
"Not yet. That's all you ever say to me. I wish you'd have a ring."
"But I will not!"
"Something, then," he begged.
"What do such things matter?" she cried, and hated her ungraciousness as she heard it. "If it will make you happy," she conceded. "Good-bye, George. The doctor will soon be here, and there is everything to do."
"Aren't you going to let me in?"
"Oh, yes." She passed into the house and up the stairs, and she did not look back to see if he had followed.