“You’ve been long enough in coming to see me,” he returned ungraciously.
“The doctor was afraid I might excite you,” she explained.
“Rot!” he ejaculated.
He pulled the flowers about and did not look at her.
“It’s been a near thing with me,” he went on, “I’ve had a closer look at death than I’m likely to get again, and come through... It didn’t seem to matter, somehow.” He still played with the flowers. “It would have squared things, perhaps, if I’d made you a widow.”
She leant towards him, and spoke in a low voice, reproachfully.
“You know it wouldn’t have squared things. It would have deprived both of us of the chance to make amends.”
“Still making a matter of conscience of it?” he said cynically.
She put her hand quickly on his, and so stayed the restless fingers in their destructive task.
“Hugh! That isn’t kind.”