“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.”
He paused and turned to her.
“I say, if she did know how I’m taking it, she’d think that awfully queer, wouldn’t she?” He paused.
“The worst of it is,” he said, “I’ve got to tell her.”
“Will you leave it to me?” Agatha said. “I think I can make it all right.”