"I've just got some money from the Semaine," she went on, "and I can anticipate my next payment. I've told you how I owe it to Mr. Driscoll that I have the money at all. It's his in a sense, anyhow."
"You want to get him out of Paris?"
"Yes, anywhere for a change."
"I might do that if he can be moved."
"Oh, thank you, thank you. Dick can't say he hasn't got friends. You are good about it." They splashed on a few steps in the downpour, and she slackened her pace again. "But since you are going away alone with him—and, anyhow, I ought to tell you. He's developing a kind of monomania. He doesn't want to live—wants—" Her voice choked.
"I know," said Gano.
"You know! He's ventured to say it to you?"
"Yes."
"Then, you see, it's serious." She was clinging to him again. Gano nodded. Before he could help himself he was trying her.
"You see, he'll never get well."