“Denny?” she whispered.
The lids of Dennison’s eyes rolled back heavily.
“Jane—all right?” he asked, quickly.
“Yes. How do you feel?”
He reached out a hand whence her voice came. She met the hand with hers, and that seemed to be all he wanted just then.
“You’d better get your bathrobe, Mr. Cleigh,” she suggested. 259
Cleigh became conscious for the first time of the condition of his pyjama jacket. It hung upon his torso in mere ribbons. He became conscious also of the fact that his body ached variously and substantially.
“Thirty-odd years since I was in a racket like this. I’m getting along.”
“And on the way,” put in Cunningham, “you might call Cleve. I’d feel better—stretched out.”
“Oh, I had forgotten!” cried Jane, reproaching herself. Weakened as he was, and sitting in a chair!