And he went and sat in his corner, huddled up, with his arms round his knees.
"Go away," he said, addressing both of them.
"I'm going, Ernst," said the old doctor. "But Constance may as well stay."
He sometimes called her by her Christian name, the old doctor who had brought them into the world in India; and to Constance it was touching, to hear that name from under his grey moustache; it called up those old, old days.
"Constance can stay?"
"Very well," said Ernst.
The doctor left them alone: the nurse would be on his guard.
"Ernst," said Constance, "suppose we went together ... to Nunspeet?"
"Why? Why?" he asked, vehemently. "I'm all right here.... And we can't take them with us there," he whispered, more gently. "Ssh! You're waking them."
"It will be quieter for them, perhaps, if you leave them here, dear," she said, kneeling on the floor beside him, feeling for his hand, with her eyes full of tears.