She did not answer him. She looked at him as if she were trying to read in his eyes something that he was trying not to tell her.
"Yes," he said, "she is worse."
"I know that," she said impatiently. "I can see it. You've got to tell me more."
"But I have told you. You know I have," he pleaded.
"I know you tried to tell me."
"Didn't I succeed?"
"You told me why she was ill—I know all that——"
"Do sit down." He turned from her and dragged the armchair forward.
"There." He put a cushion at her back. "That's better."
As she obeyed him she kept her eyes on him. The book he had been reading lay where he had put it down, on the hearthrug at her feet. Its title, "État mental des hystériques;" Janet, stared at him. He picked it up and flung it out of sight as if it had offended him. With all his movements her head lifted and turned so that her eyes followed him.
He sat down and gazed at her quietly.