Her face was colorless; she was staring at him.
“What happened?” she asked in a voice which was unsteady.
“Nothing, child!” he exclaimed sharply. “They’ve alarmed you. It was nothing at all. Didn’t mother tell you?”
“She told me there had been an accident and that you were in bed. I didn’t wait for any more.”
“But you can see it’s nothing. I can’t understand your being so excited.”
She went closer to him, and he could see that her body was quivering. “Is it something that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone away?” she asked.
“It’s nothing at all—and it would have happened in any case. I’ve only sprained my ankle. I’m ashamed to mention such a little thing. And for goodness’ sake, don’t look as if I’d had my head cut off and you were to blame.”
She sat down a distance from his bed, a strangely unhappy little creature. Her sharp uneasiness gave place to a dull, increasing apathy. She was not looking at Baron now.
He couldn’t stand that. “Did you see the play last night?” he asked pleasantly.
She stared at him. “Did I see it? Certainly not. How could I?”