She bent toward him; she said softly:—
"Do you mind my noticing? Denis always lets me fuss if he cuts his finger or anything like that."
"I was riding this morning," the words seemed to be dragged from him against his will; "I expect I overdid it."
Her pretty eyes opened wide.
"You needn't think I'm just a weakly idiot," he burst out angrily.
"I don't. You've had an illness?"
He nodded.
She sighed suggestively. He looked at her, and smiled unwillingly.
"It was nearly six months ago now." He frowned and paused. "Accident—horse had to be shot."
"Oh!" She waited.