The word was almost a cry, but she checked it, her fingers on his lips.
"You great big silly!" she murmured, laughing weakly. "Where's your sense of humour? Can't you see I'm not going to die? But I'm going to be Mrs. Nat V. West all the same. Now, is that quite understood, I wonder? Because I don't want to cry any more—I'm tired."
"You wish to marry me in the morning—before the operation?" West said, speaking almost under his breath.
His face was close to hers. She looked him suddenly straight in the eyes.
"Yes, just that," she told him softly. "I want—dear—I want to go to sleep, holding my husband's hand."
XI
"It's a clear case of desertion," declared Cynthia imperturbably, two months later. "But never mind that now, Jack. How do you like my sling? Isn't it just the cutest thing in creation?"
"You look splendid," Babbacombe said with warmth, but he surveyed her with slightly raised brows notwithstanding.
She nodded brightly in response.
"No, I'm not worrying any, I assure you. You don't believe me, I see. So here's something for you to read that will set your mind at rest."