“Pneumonia. He’s a little better to-night.”
She heard him utter: “That’s terrible. That’s a bad business.” Then to her: “Where is he?”
She told him. He said he’d call at the hospital. But he said nothing about seeing her.
“I wondered,” came her wistful voice, “whether, perhaps, you would dine here alone with me this evening.”
“Why do you ask me?”
“Because––I––our last quarrel was so bitter––and I feel the hurt of it yet. It hurts even physically, Jim.”
“I did not mean to do such a thing to you.”
“No, I know you didn’t. But that numb sort of pain is always there. I can’t seem to get rid of it, no matter what I do.”
“Are you very busy still?”