Faintly: “Neuralgia.”
“What shall I ring for? Antipyrine? Horse-radish for your wrists? Belladonna? What?”
“Nothing. Sit down and talk to me, and perhaps it will go away. Tell me something about yourself, and I’ll forget it. Sit down.”
“There is but little to tell. I have been busy making friends against the next election. I have addressed several meetings with great success. I have every chance for the House this time—for the Senate next term. How’s your face?”
“Misery! You said that several of my old friends came down with you. How odd!”
“Was it not?”
“I suppose they will all come to see me.”
“H’m. I don’t know. Doubt if they know you are here. I shall not tell them. They would only be coming to see you and getting in my way. I’ll wait until our wedding-day approaches and ask them to be ushers. But now, Jessica, that you do not seem to suffer so acutely—”
“Oh! Oh! (Thank Heaven, I hear Edith.)”
Trent sprang to his feet in genuine alarm. “Dearest! Let me go for the doctor. I cannot stand this—”