Someone knocked.
"It's himself, surely," said the old woman, as she hastened to open, and then stood aside, her hands beneath her apron, to let my husband come in. He thanked her, dismissed her, and came straight to my bedside, where he stood looking down at me.
I drew the clothes tight about my throat and looked at him mutely.
"How do you feel?" he asked, retrieving one of my submerged hands and placing a steady finger on the pulse.
"Tired," I answered, and then, "Oh, Doctor Denton, when will Sarah be here?"
I knew quite well: but something unreasonable in me hoped that I had slept a whole twenty-four hours away and that I would very soon hear her comforting step outside my door.
"Tomorrow," he answered, and added with a suspicion of a smile, "but I thought we were agreed that Doctor Denton, as a form of address, is taboo, under the circumstances."
"William, then," I said, with a great weariness in my heart.
"Could you manage Bill?" he asked. "I have unpleasant associations with my full name: it always reminds me of the woodshed, and my father's strong right hand."
Absurdly enough, I heard my own voice saying solemnly: