"Indeed!" The head tilted up, furnishing to the Tyro the distinct moulding, under the blurring fabric, of a determined and resentful chin. "Well, I can't talk. I can only whisper."
"Sore throat?"
"Well, it's none of my business," conceded the Tyro. "But you rather looked as if—as if you were in trouble, and I thought perhaps I could help you."
"I don't want any help. I'm all right." To prove which she began to cry again.
The Tyro led her over to a deck-chair and made her sit down. "Of course you are. You just sit there and think how all-right you are for five minutes and then you will be all right."
"But I'm not going back. Never! Never!! Nev-ver!!!"
"Certainly not," said the Tyro soothingly.
"You speak to me as if I were a child!"
"So you are—almost."