"What is it, Claire?"
"I want to do something for you. You're ill."
His face clouded. "No, thanks," he said. "You've done too much for me already."
"Won't you do anything for yourself?" she begged.
"I'll be all right. It's just a cold, I guess."
Philip came and stood looking down at Lawrence scrutinizingly, while Claire went to the fire and heated water.
"I am going to fill you up with quinin," he announced. "It is never missing from my medicine-chest."
"All right," Lawrence laughed. "It isn't bitter compared to what I'm filling myself with."
"Are you not making a fool of yourself?" Philip asked plainly.
"Yes. I know it. That doesn't keep me from doing it, though."