"Yes."
"I am glad. I seem to feel—what is it?"
"I don't know, Desiree. What do you mean?"
"Nothing—nothing. Oh. it feels so good—good—to have you hold me like this."
"Yes?" I smiled.
"But, yes. Where is Harry?"
"Asleep. Are you hungry?"
"Yes—no. Not now. I don't know why. I want to talk. What has happened?"
I told her of everything that had occurred since she had swooned; she shuddered as memory returned, but forgot herself in my attempt at a humorous description of Harry's valor as a hunter of food.
"You don't need to turn up your nose," I retorted to her expressive grimace; "you ate some of the stuff yourself."