"What would your paper do without you?" she asked, with her brow slightly knitted and the color deepening in her cheeks.
"Recalling what you said, I'm tempted to think it is doing better without me."
"You imagine I said a great deal more than I did."
"No, I remember everything that happened until I was taken ill. It's strange I was taken so suddenly. I can see you playing Chopin's nocturne as distinctly as I see you now. Do you know that I had the fancy that the cluster of roses you sent me was that nocturne embodied, and that the shades of color were the variations in the melody?"
"You are indeed very fanciful. I hope you will grow more rational as you get well."
"I remember you thought me slightly insane in the garden."
"Yes; and you promised that you would see things just as they are after leaving it."
"I can't help seeing things just as they seem to me. Perhaps I do see them just as they are."
"Oh, no! To a matter-of-fact person like myself, you are clearly very fanciful. If you don't improve in this respect, you'll have to take a course in mathematics before returning to your work or you will mislead your readers."
"No, I'm going to take a course of weeding in the garden, and you were to invite me into the arbor as soon as I had done enough to earn my salt."