"You were singing!" he said, at length.
"Was I? did I disturb you? I won't—"
"No! I don't mean that. I wanted to hear the words. I—I threw the bowl down on purpose."
Vesta looked up in utter amazement; meeting the young doctor's eyes, something in them brought the lovely colour flooding over her face and neck.
"That was childish!" she said, quietly, and went on picking up the pieces. "It was a valuable bowl."
"I am—feverish!" said Geoffrey. "This bandage is getting dry, and I am all prickles."
Vesta hesitated a moment; then she laid her hand on his forehead. "You have no fever!" she said. "You are flushed and restless, but—Doctor Strong, this is convalescence!"
"Is that what you call it?" said Geoffrey.