"How ill?" he echoed. "She wasn't very ill; she had to stay in her room for a few days of course, but she wasn't really ill. Aunt Madge. What do you mean?"
"My dear boy! When she is such a shadow! Why, there is nothing of her, and her poor little face is all eyes! She looks to me as if she is recovering from a terrible illness."
Chris smiled rather uneasily.
"You're over-anxious," he said. "The doctor assured me that she was 111 all right, and I think she is. Has she complained about not feeling well to you?"
"Oh, no, nothing, but I haven't seen her for a month, and perhaps I notice the change more than you do. Chris——" He had turned to go, but stopped when she spoke his name.
"Yes, Aunt Madge."
"Come here, Chris."
He came back reluctantly, and Miss Chester rose from her chair, and, laying her hands on his shoulders, looked earnestly into his eyes.
"There isn't anything wrong, Chris? You're both quite happy?"
"Of course!" But he, too, bent and kissed her as Marie Celeste had done to avoid further questioning.