"Dear Oliver, you must cheer up," she said, softly. "You'll be well soon--quite soon--if you are only patient."
He made no reply.
"Did you like Mr. Nixon?" she asked, in the same caressing voice, gently rubbing her cheek against his arm.
"One doesn't exactly like one's executioner," he said, hoarsely and suddenly, but without opening his eyes.
"Oliver!--dearest!" She dropped a protesting kiss on the sleeve of his coat.
Silence for a little, Alicia felt as if she could hardly breathe in the hot room. Then Oliver raised himself.
"I am going blind!"--he said, violently. "And nothing can be done. Did that man tell my mother that?"
"No, no!--Oliver!" She threw her arm round him, hastily repeating and softening Nixon's opinion.
He sank back on his cushions, gloomily listening--without assent. Presently he shook his head.
"The stuff that doctors talk when they can do no good, and want to get comfortably out of the house! Alicia!"