“Yes,” he said, deliberately. “You were very kind to me before the war. Before the war I scratched my hand among your rose-bushes, and you—you kissed the place and made it well! You may forget that generous action—”
“Oh, no!” she interrupted, laughingly. “I remember it! I would do it again!”
He straightened himself in his chair with an abrupt movement.
“You would? You would do it again?”
“Of course I would! Why shouldn’t I? Especially if you were frightened, and thought you were going to be blood-poisoned!”
He regarded her with a smile.
“I was not frightened!” he said. “I did not think I was going to be blood-poisoned! I’m not such a fool! I only wanted you to be—to be—”
Her eyes sparkled a trifle mischievously.
“To be—to be—what?” she asked.
“Kind to me!”