"John and I are destined to remain near neighbours; his grief is well meant, but a trifle premature."
"You are not going to die, José!" she said gently.
But he only smiled.
Ogilvy came, Annan came, the Countess Hélène, and even Mrs. Hind-Willet. He inspected them all with his shadowy and mysterious smile, answered them gently deep in his sunken eyes a sombre amusement seemed to dwell. But there was in it no bitterness.
Then Neville came. Valerie and Rita were absent that day but their roses filled the private ward-room with a hint of the coming summer.
Querida lay looking at Neville, the half smile resting on his pallid face like a slight shadow that faintly waxed and waned with every breath he drew.
"Well," he said quietly, "you are the man I wished to see."
"Querida," he said, deeply affected, "this thing isn't going to be permanent—"
"No; not permanent. It won't last, Neville. Nothing does last…. unless you can tell me whether my pictures are going to endure. Are they? I know that you will be as honest with me as I was—dishonest with you. I will believe what you say. Is my work destined to be permanent?"
"Don't you know it is?"