"Listen, and you will hear the voices of the multitude before the Court. Mr. Meredith is trying cases and sentencing malefactors to various degrees of punishment," said the doctor.
"Won't you call him?"
"Are you sure he won't charge me with Contempt of Court?" he teased.
"If I am going to be ill, I must have him come at once. But first promise me something," she cried, clinging to his hand with feverish excitement; "I cannot bear to stay in camp after yesterday's experience. Tell him that I must go back to Muktiarbad so as to have Baby near you. He might be ill again, and what should I do then!"
"He might, certainly. Yes, I'll tell your husband, but not today. Today you will want to be taken care of, and we mustn't pile on the agony."
"On whom? It would be such a relief to me!"
"Not to your husband. I wouldn't mind betting he'd have a fit of the blues and be ill himself as a result."
"Oh, no! Ray never gets ill. He is so strong. That is why he can't understand us. Oh, Doctor, I cannot live in India!" she wailed.
"Are you very homesick?" he asked with the same grudging smile.
"I hate India! It will kill Baby—won't you explain that to my husband?"