He looked down at her surprised. Sheila Pat was breathing hard; her eyes were wildly eager.
"Something is troubling you," he said gently. "Tell me what it is!"
But she shrank back nervously into the bed.
"You see—I—"
"Well?" He felt the fluttering pulse again. "Tell me, little one."
"Was I—" Pause; then, with a burst, "Was I 'lirious last night?"
"Now, now, you mustn't get nervous—"
Her face stopped him. He rubbed his chin and studied her perplexedly. He was trying to discover what it was that she wanted.
"Was I?" She sat up, clung to the bed knob with one hand. "I—I thought I was!"
The expressive voice held a note of despairing doubt in the last words that helped him.