“Why—everybody; the servants. I have care enough.”
“Oh, the servants! Have you a physician to advise you?”
“Certainly—the best in the world. Sylvia, dea—, Sylvia, I didn't mean to give you an impression—”
“Stephen, I will have you truthful with me! I know perfectly well you are ill. I—if I could only—if there was something, some way—Listen: I am—I am going to do something about it, and I don't care very much what I do!”
“What sweet nonsense!” he laughed, but his voice was no steadier than hers.
“Will you drive with me?” she asked impulsively, “some afternoon—”
“Sylvia, dear, you don't really want me to do it. Wait, listen: I—I've got to tell you that—that I'm not fit for it. I've got to be honest with you; I am not fit, not in physical condition to go out just yet. I've really been ill—for weeks. Plank has been very nice to me. I want to get well; I mean to try very hard. But the man you knew—is—changed.”
“Changed?”
“Not in that way!” he said in a slow voice.
“H-how, then?” she stammered, all a-thrill.