Aimée started herself, and looked up at him with a frightened face.
“Ill!” she said. “Did you say ill?”
It was his turn to be surprised then.
“I thought her looking ill,” he answered. “She seemed to me to be both paler and thinner. But you must not let me alarm you,—I thought, of course, that you would know.”
“She has never mentioned it in her letters,” Aimée said. “And she has not been home for three months, so we have not seen her.”
“Don't let me give you a false impression,” returned Gowan, eagerly. “She seemed in excellent spirits, and was quite her old self; indeed, I scarcely should imagine that she herself placed sufficient stress upon the state of her health. She insisted that she was well when I spoke to her about it.”
“I am very glad you told me,” answered Aimée. “She is too indifferent sometimes. I am afraid she would not have let us know. I thank you, very much.”
He had other thanks before he left the house. As he was going out, Mollie, in her character of porteress, opened the hall door for him, and, having opened it, stood there with Tod's new garment half concealed, a pair of timid eyes uplifted to his face, a small, trembling, feverish hand held out.
“Mr. Gowan,” she said, in a low, fluttering voice. “Oh, if you please—”
He took the little hot hand, feeling some tender remorse for not having tried to draw her out more and help her out of her painful shyness and restraint.