"You are talking too much!" flashed Diane with sudden color. "The wound is slight, but you bled a lot; and the doctor made particular reference to rest and quiet."
"Good Lord!" said Philip in deep disgust. "There's your pretty physician for you! 'Rest and quiet' for a knife scratch. Like as not he'll want me to take a year off to convalesce!"
"He left you another powder to take to-night," remarked Diane severely. "Moreover, he said you must be very quiet to-day and he'd be in, in the morning, to see you."
Something jubilant laughed and sang in Philip's veins. A day in Arcadia lay temptingly at his feet.
"Great Scott," he protested feebly. "I can't. I really can't, you know—"
"You'll have to," said Diane with unsmiling composure. "The doctor said so."
"After all," mused Philip approvingly, "it's the young medical fellows who have the finest perceptions. I do need rest."
Off in the checkered shadows of the forest a crow cawed derisively.
"Did you like your shirt?" asked Diane with a distracting hint of raillery under her long, black lashes.
"It's substantial," admitted Philip gratefully, "and democratic."