"Oh—I don't believe so."
"You don't believe so? You mean that it's possible, but that you hope it won't stop? Is that it?"
"Oh—well—perhaps. But I don't think there's any real danger. Besides—if it did, it's easy, you know."
"What's easy?"
"It's an easy death—over at once, in a flash. No lingering and last words and all that." He laughed.
Fanny Trehearne's sunburned cheeks grew pale under their tan, and her cool grey eyes turned slowly away from his face, and rested on the blue water.
"Please don't talk about such things!" she said in a tone that seemed hard to Lawrence.
"Are you afraid of death?" he asked, still smiling.
"I?" She turned upon him indignantly. "No—I don't believe that I'm much afraid of anything—for myself."
"You turned pale," observed the young man, raising himself on his elbow as he lay on the cushions, and looking at her. Her colour came back more quickly than it had gone.