"I rather hope it isn't," Agatha said.
"Do you? What do you think it is, then?"
"I think it's something in you."
"Of course, of course. But what started it? That's what I want to know. Something's happened. Something queer and spontaneous and unaccountable. It's—it's uncanny. For, you know, I oughtn't to feel like this. I got bad news this morning."
"Bad news?"
"Yes. My sister's little girl is very ill. They think it's meningitis. They're in awful trouble. And I—I'm feeling like this."
"Don't let it distress you."
"It doesn't distress me. It only puzzles me. That's the odd thing. Of course, I'm sorry and I'm anxious and all that; but I feel so well."
"You are well. Don't be morbid."
"I haven't told my wife yet. About the child, I mean. I simply daren't. It'll frighten her. She won't know how I'll take it, and she'll think it'll make me go all queer again."