“Well, I should say that bad turn he took last night would be the last. He’ll be coming along now. We’ll get some nourishment into him pretty soon. You go over to the hotel and get some sleep—no, lie down here on my cot. You look weak.”
And now it was a new atmosphere—an atmosphere of convalescence, of Gregory coming slowly back to life, visibly changing for the better, smiling, joking feebly, watching her wonderingly and devotedly, talking when he was allowed.
“It’s such a ridiculous way to begin housekeeping,” Freda would tease him, gently.
“It’s a maddening way and a marvelous way—to have all day to watch you and adore you and not to dare to pull you into my arms for fear a nurse will pop out on me.”
“You may be sure one would.”
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“A wheeled chair next week if you are good and don’t get excited.”
“A wheeled chair—when I want a highway with you beside me—”
“If you’re impatient—” she stopped to smile at him.
“Listen, Freda—we go straight off together, don’t we?”