"Didn't you expect me?" he said.
She held out a hand that trembled.
"Yes, I—I knew you would come; only, you see, I hardly thought you would get here so soon."
"But you meant me to come?" he said.
His hand held hers closely, warmly, reassuringly. He looked into her face.
For a few seconds she evaded the look with a shyness beyond her control; then resolutely she mastered herself and met his eyes.
"Yes, I meant you to come. I am glad you are back. I—" She broke off suddenly, gazing at him in consternation. "Monty," she exclaimed, "you never told me you had been ill!"
He smiled at that, and her agitation began to subside.
"I am well again, Betty," he said.
"Oh, but you don't look it," she protested. "You look—you look as if you had suffered—horribly. Have you?"