"I am so glad that you are better," she said with an effort made doubly difficult in the consciousness of the bright blush on her cheeks. Without moving he replied in what must have once been an agreeable voice: "Thank you. I suppose you are Miss Erith."
"Yes."
"Then—I am very grateful for what you have done."
"It was so fortunate—"
"Would you be seated if you please?"
She took the chair beside his bed.
"It was nice of you," he said, almost sullenly. "Few women of your sort would bother with a drunken man."
They both flushed. She said calmly: "It is women of my sort who DO exactly that kind of thing."
He gave her a dark and sulky look: "Not often," he retorted: "there are few of your sort from Samaria."
There was a silence, then he went on in a hard voice: