"Not yet. I've asked the clerk, whenever I signal him, to send someone to carry me to my room. If I'm not able to say good-bye to you, please accept now my thanks for all your kindness to a stranger. You see, I'm not sure whether I'll have a sudden seizure or the pains will come on gradually."
"What pains?" demanded Patsy.
"I can't explain them. Don't you believe something is bound to happen?" he inquired, nervously removing the ash from his cigar.
"To be sure. You're going to get well."
He made no reply, but sat watching Beth's nimble fingers. Patsy was too excited to resume her embroidery.
"I wonder if you are old enough to smoke?" remarked Beth.
"I'm over twenty-one."
"Indeed! We decided you were about eighteen."
"I suppose I look younger than my age. At home, in Sangoa, I am still regarded as a mere child. That is because I had no brothers and sisters, and my father never could realize that I was growing up. The people still call me—"
He paused, in an embarrassed way, till Patsy asked: