“Who’s paying them? The Attorney-General?”
Cub evaded:
“You were riding in his car when you were hurt, weren’t you?”
Sally Ferguson sat erect and put one hand quickly over her mouth. Sterling caught her by the shoulders and forced her back among the pillows.
“Where was it? Where did it hurt you?”
“Here,” she put her hand on her abdomen and groaned.
Cub began examining her carefully and thoroughly. When he stood up again he said:
“I’m sorry, Sophie! We’ll stop it if you want us to. The bills and the pain, too. Talk about them tomorrow. You must get some rest. Lie quiet. Be still....”
Her mouth fell into a fighting straightness. All of the childish freshness which had charmed him when he had first seen her was gone. She lay tense and hard under his hands. Suddenly he knew she was trying not to cry. Calmly he began talking again:
“Accidents knock a darned lot more out of you than you ever suspect at the time, you know. You see, Sophie, if you don’t help me, then ... if you get terribly sick and I have a consultation over you ... it’ll mean sending for your father ... and it’ll be a hell of a mess all around....”