"Well, I fear it is true, that she is under-fed and over-worked. It has been cruel. I had no idea myself. She looks so, somehow, so unlike that."
"Yes, indeed. You mean that her over-exertion has been necessary?"
"I do."
"Well, I thought as much," replied Dymock, after a pause. "Some unscrupulous employer, I suppose. A good thing you rescued her. She is perfectly healthy and sound, but she won't be anything like robust for some time yet. I am forbidding solid food at present. She must have nourishment every two hours—eggs beaten up in milk, port wine, strong soup, Benger's food—things like that. In a few days her appetite will return. But meanwhile she must be left perfectly quiet, Gaunt—you understand?"
"I understand perfectly. I give you my word for that."
"It won't be for long," said Dymock consolingly. "She is young, and she will pick up fast in this good air; her convalescence will be twice as rapid if you are considerate. She is in a state of acute nervous tension, and must be soothed; kept happy and quiet."
"Perhaps," said Gaunt, after a long pause, "it would be better if I do not see her at all, just at present. What do you think?"
"It all depends. Does it excite her to see you?"
"It might. Our marriage was sudden, you know. She hardly knows me."
"I think it should depend upon what she would like. Might it not distress her that you should keep away?"