“I am glad you are better. I didn’t even know it until you had passed the crisis.”
“Whose fault was it?” That old perversity had not been subdued by suffering.
“Oh, don’t; not to-day, anyhow.” She put her hands up and gently turned down the collar of his coat. “Come, now; lie down on the divan. You’ve overdone your strength.”
His fingers in her folded grasp were trembling.
“I’m not equal to my work yet,” he said, as he stretched out among the pillows, closing his eyes wearily.
“I wouldn’t have come if it had not been your birthday,” turning his head, revealing the painful clearness of his profile.
“I remembered you had someone who loved you; to think of it always before—now there’s nobody.”
Sitting beside him she stroked his forehead very tenderly.
“You were always thoughtful of me.”
They were silent for a time.