“Dear, I'm NOT tired, and I'm NOT sick, and I'm all RIGHT.”
“No, no; I can tell. I think we'd best have the berth made up and you lie down.”
“That would be perfectly ridiculous.”
“Well, where is it you feel sick? Show me; put your hand on the place. Want to eat something?”
With elaborate minuteness, he cross-questioned her, refusing to let the subject drop, protesting that she had dark circles under her eyes; that she had grown thinner.
“Wonder if there's a doctor on board,” he murmured, looking uncertainly about the car. “Let me see your tongue. I know—a little whiskey is what you want, that and some pru——”
“No, no, NO,” she exclaimed. “I'm as well as I ever was in all my life. Look at me. Now, tell me, do l look likee a sick lady?”
He scrutinised her face distressfully.
“Now, don't I look the picture of health?” she challenged.
“In a way you do,” he began, “and then again——”