Rosner continued hesitantly, "You're not looking at all well yourself, Count Torriani. You're worrying too much about John. It's time you thought about yourself a little. If you don't—well, you may be where he is."
"Would to God that I were!" Rodrigo cried with a suddenness and vehemence that startled Rosner. In the next instant he was angry at himself for losing control, for his manifestation of the jumpy state of his nerves. He continued more calmly, "Thanks for your sympathy, Rosner, but don't worry about me. I'm all right."
"If you wanted to go away a while, for a rest—I could manage, I think, after a fashion," Rosner offered.
"Thanks. I know you could. You're doing wonderful work—you and Miss Drake and all the rest of the people. But I'll stick around until John gets back in harness. Then I'm going away for a long rest, abroad probably."
After Rosner had gone, Rodrigo realized that their little conversation had been a relief, even his explosive demonstration of his nervous condition. The only other person in the establishment with whom he discussed John's illness was Mary Drake, and to her he merely communicated briefly the latest news from Greenwich daily, in answer to her question. There was no mention of their former relations to each other, merely a question and answer about some one in whom both felt a deep concern. Beyond this and the daily contacts into which the routine of the business brought them, Rodrigo and Mary were now to all intents and purposes just an employer and a trusted employee. Of the frequent anxious and sympathetic glances which Mary cast at him when he chanced to be facing away from her, Rodrigo, of course, knew nothing.
It was December, when his illness had run along for nearly two months, that John Dorning showed a definite improvement and return to normal. One morning Rodrigo received word by telephone that John was to leave two days later for southern California, in charge of his sister and his nurse, and would like to see Rodrigo before he departed. The doctor had declared that a change of scene would help the patient as soon as he was in condition to travel. It was thought that John was now strong enough, and the plans had been made for an indefinite stay in the region of San Diego.
Rodrigo drove up to Greenwich that afternoon. Alice Pritchard ushered him into John's room, near a window at which his friend was seated, looking moodily out upon the snow-clad lawn. Though he was prepared to see a change in John's appearance, Rodrigo was shocked in spite of himself at the actuality. The face of the man in the chair was white and gaunt. His blond hair was streaked with gray. He looked at least ten years older than he had on the day Rodrigo had seen him last. And as, aware of visitors, he turned, Rodrigo saw that his eyes looked sunken and lack-lustre.
Rodrigo managed a smile as he advanced with hand outstretched. A semblance of a smile appeared on John's wan face also, and he said in a low voice, "This is good, old man."
"It is, indeed," Rodrigo said heartily. "I'm glad to see you looking better."
"Yes, I am feeling better. I want to thank you for sticking by me through it all, Rodrigo. They've told me of the constant interest you've shown and the fine work you're doing at the shop. I'm sorry to have to impose upon you any longer—but they tell me I must go away for a time. I don't know that it will do any good." His weak voice fell away, and his head bowed a little.