Matilde was surprised by his change of manner, but was glad to find that she could control him so easily.
"It will pass," she said more gently. "You will be better in a day or two, when everything is settled."
"Yes—when everything is settled. But meanwhile, my dear, perhaps it would be better, if you should notice anything strange in my behaviour, like my laughing in this absurd way, for instance, just to look at me without saying anything—you understand—it will recall me to myself. I am convinced that it is only absence of mind, brought on by great anxiety. But people are spiteful, you know, and somebody might think that I was losing my mind."
"Yes," she answered gravely. "If you laugh in that way, without any reason, somebody might think so. I will try and call your attention to it, if I can."
"Thank you," said Macomer, with his unpleasant smile. "I think I will go and lie down now, for I feel tired."
He turned from her, and made a few steps towards the door. He did not walk like a man tired, for he held himself as erect as ever, with his head thrown back, and his narrow shoulders high and square. Nevertheless, Matilde was anxious.
"You do not feel ill, do you?" she asked, before he had reached the door.
He stopped, half turning back.
"No—oh, no! I do not feel ill. Pray do not be anxious, my dear. I will take a little aconite for my heart, and then I will lie down for an hour or two."
"I did not know that you had been converted to homoeopathy," said Matilde, indifferently. "But, of course, if it does you good, take the aconite, by all means."