"Are you ill?" with a voice of alarm.
The blood mounted to her face again.
"It was a bad turn," she said. "Don't mind it. I'm better now."
"Isn't it better for me to sit in a chair?" he inquired, trying to rise.
She tightened her grasp upon him.
"No, no. I am better with you here. I wish you were never to leave me."
Again they sat a long time in silence. Then she said:
"Harry, can you write?"
"Yes."
"Well, there is a pencil on the table, and paper. Go and write your father's name. Then come and give me a kiss, and then go home. I shall see you again, perhaps to-night. I suppose I ought to apologize to Mrs. Balfour for keeping you so long."