Horton sat up in bed and looked out of the window.
"I'll get money," he said. "Don't you worry."
He saw her eyes studying him quietly and he sank back at once in bed out of the glare of the sunlight. He wondered if he had gone too far. But he had found out one of the things that he had wanted to know. She knew nothing of what Barry Quinlevin was doing.
Her next remark was disquieting.
"It's very strange, the way I'm thinking about you. You've grown different in the army—or is it the sickness? There's a sweeter look to your mouth, and a firmer turn to your jaw. Your gaze is wider and your heart has grown soft, with the suffering. It's like another man, I'm seeing somehow, Harry, and I'm glad."
"Suffering—yes, perhaps," he muttered.
She leaned forward impulsively and put her hand over his, smiling brightly at him.
"We'll be good friends now, alanah. I'm sure of it."
"You like me a little better——?"
"Sure and I wouldn't be sitting here holding hands if I didn't," she laughed. Then with a quick glance at her wrist watch she rose. "And now I must be going back to father. Here is the nurse. Time is up."