She looked up, and her eyes were like cooling well-springs to quench the fever fires in his.
"You are better," she said, rising. "I'll go and call your mother."
"Wait a minute," he pleaded; then his hand found the bandage on his head. "What happened to me?"
"Don't you remember? Two men tried to rob you last Saturday evening as you were coming home. One of them struck you."
"This is Wednesday."
The cool preciseness of her replies cut him to the heart. He did not need to ask why she had come. It was mere neighborliness, and not for him, but for his mother. He remembered the Saturday evening quite clearly now: Japheth's shout; the two men springing on him; the instant just preceding the crash of the blow when he had recognized one of his assailants and guessed the identity of the other.
"It was no more than right that you should come," he said bitterly. "It was the least you could do, since your—"
She was moving toward the door, and his ungrateful outburst had the effect of stopping her. But she did not go back to him.
"I owe your mother anything she likes to ask," she affirmed, in the same colorless tone.