"What's that?" Bennett's frown gathered on the instant, and with a sharp movement of the head that was habitual to him he brought his one good eye to bear upon her.
Lloyd repeated her statement, answering his remonstrance and expostulation with:
"You are almost perfectly well, and it would not be at all—discreet for me to stay here an hour longer than absolutely necessary. I shall go back to-morrow or next day."
"But, I tell you, I am still very sick. I'm a poor, miserable, shattered wreck."
He made a great show of coughing in hollow, lamentable tones.
"Listen to that, and last night I had a high fever, and this morning I had a queer sort of pain about here—" he vaguely indicated the region of his chest. "I think I am about to have a relapse."
"Nonsense! You can't frighten me at all."
"Oh, well," he answered easily, "I shall go with you—that is all. I suppose you want to see me venture out in such raw, bleak weather as this—with my weak lungs."
"Your weak lungs? How long since?"
"Well, I—I've sometimes thought my lungs were not very strong."