"Suppose you waive criticism and look after Sophy," suggested Mr. Jelnik. He walked up to his cousin and looked straight in his eyes: "Richard, you're not such a fool as to dare doubt us?"
"Eh?" blinked the doctor, "what? Doubt Sophy? I should say not! And you—oh, well, you're a bit of a fool yourself at times, Jelnik, and this seems to be one of the times; but I don't doubt you. However," said the doctor, grimly, "I should like to whale some sense into you with a club!"
"An ax would be more to the point," murmured The Author, regretfully.
"In the meantime, Richard," said Mr. Jelnik, with a faint smile, "take Sophy home, please."
I have a vague recollection of swallowing something that the doctor told me to swallow. Then came blessed oblivion, a sleep so profound that I didn't even dream, and didn't awake until that afternoon; to find the tender face of Alicia again bent over me.
I waited for her to ask at least one of the many questions she must have been longing to ask. But Alicia shook her head.
"Sophy," said she, loyally, "you haven't got to tell me one single, solitary thing unless you really want to. But—isn't this just a bit sudden? I was—surprised."
"So was I."
"You see, Sophy, I never once dreamed—"
"That he cared for me? Neither did I."