Dimbie sat down on the bed and knit his brows.
"I am sorry, dear," I said sympathetically. "I couldn't help his coming; I didn't invite him."
"I know. Naturally your mother wanted to see you."
"Yes. Poor mother! To live for three months without any respite upon the edge of a crater subject at any moment to volcanic eruptions is naturally wearing, and she must have an occasional change in order to keep her reason."
Dimbie nursed his leg, and his mouth was a little more crooked than usual. I lay and watched him. How unselfish and forbearing he was! He put up with Peter for mother's sake, he put up with mother for my sake, he put up with Jane for her own and the Doctor's sake. Here he was yearning to be alone, to be by ourselves; and the house was full up with parents, friends, and doctors. And I, to add to his worries, have been obliged to keep my room for the last week owing to a feverish cold and general poorliness.
"But they will all go soon," I said, trying to comfort him. "Peter and mother are returning home after the wedding, and Jane is to be married next month."
"November is an idiotic month for a wedding," he said irritably.
"Why?"
"She mightn't have been in such a deuce of a hurry."
"But it isn't she, it's the Doctor."