The little old man rested awhile, sitting up in his bed. He perceived that the girl's thoughts were far away. He could keep her standing there as long as he pleased, a motionless figure against the faded green curtains, but he could not narrow her world to his sick-room. Perhaps for that very reason he felt a desire to awaken her from her reverie.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Nineteen."
The answer was given with a lifting of her long lashes. She had not expected any question about herself.
"Nineteen?"
"Yes. At least I shall be nineteen next month."
A month more or less made little difference to Barbara.
"As much as that?" he said. "Barbara, perhaps I ought to say something before I go."
Her attention was effectually aroused, and her brilliant gaze rested on the dull, waxen mask before her. But after a moment his eyes fell away from hers.