"I am glad you have returned, Awdrey," he said, holding out his hand as he spoke. "I called to inquire for your wife, and the man told me you were upstairs."
"Yes, and I am better," said Awdrey. "I came back because I thought perhaps Margaret—but by the way, why should I speak so much about myself? My wife was not well when I left her. I hope, doctor, that she consulted you, and that she is now much better."
"Considering all things, Mrs. Awdrey is fairly well," said Rumsey.
"And she has quite got over that delusion?"
"Quite." The doctor's voice was full of decision.
Margaret shuddered and turned away.
Rumsey seated himself at a little distance from the fire, but Awdrey remained standing. He stood in such a position that the doctor could get a perfect view of him. Rumsey did not fail to avail himself of so excellent a moment for studying this queer case. He observed the wasted face of his patient; the unnaturally large and bright eyes; the lips which used to be firm as a line, and which gave considerable character to the face, but which had now become loose and had a habit of drooping slightly open; the brows, too, worked at times spasmodically, and the really noble forehead, which in old times betokened intelligence to a marked degree, was now furrowed with many lines. While Rumsey watched he also made up his mind.
"I must tear the veil from that man's eyes at any cost," he said to himself. He gave Margaret a glance and she left the room. The moment she did so the doctor stood up.
"I am glad you have returned," he said.
"How strange of you to say that," answered Awdrey. "Do you not remember you were the man who ordered me away?"