“Don't you remember? I left you and crossed the street. You followed me and then—and then you stopped. And then—Oh, don't ask me! Don't!”
“I know. Now I do remember. It was that big motor car. I saw it coming. But who brought me here? You—I remember you; I thought you were Hephzy. And there was someone else.”
“Yes, the doctor—the doctor they called—and Doctor Bayliss.”
“Doctor Bayliss! Herbert Bayliss, do you mean? Yes, I saw him at the 'Abbey'—and afterward. Did he come here with me?”
“Yes. He was very kind. I don't know what I should have done if it had not been for him. Now you MUST not speak another word.”
I did not, for a few moments. I lay there, feebly trying to think, and looking at her. I was grateful to young Bayliss, of course, but I wished—even then I wished someone else and not he had helped me. I did not like to be under obligations to him. I liked him, too; he was a good fellow and I had always liked him, but I did not like THAT.
She rose from the chair by the bed and walked across the room.
“Don't go,” I said.
She came back almost immediately.
“It is time for your medicine,” she said.