"Wasn't there anyone—I mean—your aunt—" But her voice died on the word, as she pictured that lady, with her bangles, her chains, rattling in a sick room.
A twinkle crept into his eye.
"They hate sick rooms, and," gravely, "they excited me."
She smiled.
"So you just had those two nurses?"
"And the doctor. I've got an awfully decent cousin—second cousin—down in Cornwall. She's married—has two little girls—she'd have come up, but one of them was ill."
She was silent.
"I'm awfully strong, though," he protested anxiously. "Yesterday I whined to the doctor because I can't do things same as I used to, yet, and he said, 'If you weren't as strong as a horse, you'd have been dead twice over by now!' He's got Irish blood in his veins, I fancy!"
She smiled absently.
"Why aren't you down in the country?"