"You wait and see how quickly I'll get well ... But, Fanshaw, I don't believe in a boy marrying too young."
"I'm nearly thirty, Mother, that's old enough surely."
"Your dear father was thirty-five when he married me. And, Fanshaw, there are so many things we'll want to do together when I get well. And if that girl loves you as she ought she'll wait for you years if need be ... And the expense of the wedding and all that ... O, I think it's an extravagant idea."
"I'll think about it, Mother."
"O, darling, I've got such a headache."
"Here comes Susan with your medicine, dear. That'll make you feel better."
Susan stood over her, showing her long teeth in a smile.
"Here's your tablet, mum, and I'm bringin' ye a cup of malted milk right away.
"Thank you, Susan," said Mrs. Macdougan with a wan frown. "And be sure to make it sweet enough. It was just horrid yesterday." Susan's eyes met Fanshaw's. She smiled tolerantly as she smoothed the grey hair back from the old woman's forehead.
* * * *