'How tired you look, Heriot,' she said, as he stood beside her; the word had involuntarily slipped from her in her gladness yesterday, and as she timidly used it again his lips touched her brow in token of his thanks.
'We are improving, Heartsease. I suppose you begin to find out that I am not as formidable as I look—that Dr. Heriot had a very chilling sound, it made me feel fifty at least.'
'I think you are getting younger, or I am getting older,' observed Polly, quaintly; 'to be sure you look very pale this morning, and your forehead is dreadfully wrinkled. I am afraid your arm has been troubling you.'
'Well, it has been pretty bad,' he returned, evasively; 'one does not get over a strain so easily. But, now, how is Mildred?'
The word escaped from him involuntarily, but he did not recall it. Polly did not notice his slight confusion.
'She is down in the drawing-room. I think she expects you,' she replied. 'Olive said she had a beautiful night, but of course the bruises are very painful; one of her arms is quite blackened, she cannot bear it touched.'
'I will see what can be done,' was his answer.
As he crossed the lobby his step was as firm as ever, his manner as gravely kind as he stood by Mildred's side; the delicacy of her aspect smote him with dull pain, but she smiled in her old way as she gave him her left hand.
'The other is so much bruised that I cannot bear the lightest touch,' she said, drawing it out from her white shawl, and showing him the cruel black marks; 'it is just like that to my shoulder.'
He looked at it pityingly.