She paused, drying her eyes.
"He liked the snowdrops you brought him," she said.
Barbara thought: "And the snowdrops he brought me." He had caught cold that day, picking them. They had withered in the glass in her bedroom.
She left Fanny, only to come upon Horry in his agony. Horry stood in the window of the dining-room, staring out and scowling at the snow.
"Damn the snow!" he said. "It's killed him."
"It hasn't, Horry," she said; "he'll get better."
"He won't get better. If this beastly frost holds he hasn't got a chance."
"Horry dear, the doctor says he's better."
"He doesn't. He says his temperature's got no business to go up."
"All the same—"