“There was nothing necessary to speak of,” she answered, in a voice which seemed to come from a parched throat. “I think I am not quite well, but it’s nothing more than I am used to; I have headaches.”
“You haven’t written to me for a fortnight. Why didn’t you ask me to come and see you?”
“I supposed you would come before long.”
“You don’t seem very glad to see me, now I have come,” said Lacour musingly.
“Yes, I am glad.”
The words had not much life, and the smile with which she accompanied them was as pain-stricken as a smile could be. Lacour, still holding her hand, looked down, his brows contracting.
“You haven’t had any bad news?” he asked all at once, facing her.
“Bad news?”
“It is not anything you have heard that has made you ill?”
“Certainly not. What should I have heard?”