“Dead?” cried Zoe and the Admiral together.
“Hours ago. The merest bruise on the temple—from a flying stone, I imagine. It must have been instantaneous. The mother is distracted—refuses to believe it even now; but I think she must have guessed.”
CHAPTER XXII.
CHANGES AND CHANCES.
“Now, how’s that?” asked the surgeon, standing in front of Wylie and looking at him triumphantly.
“Oh, gorgeous in the extreme,” was the languid reply. “Makes one feel that a quiet grave would be preferable, don’t you know.”
“Don’t talk about graves,” said the surgeon, with unexpected fierceness. “Pluck up a little spirit, man! If you can’t stand being dressed and put into a chair, how will you manage to receive visitors?”
“What visitors?” with a faint show of interest.
“Well, one visitor—whom I imagine you’ll be glad to see.”
“I hope,” said Wylie slowly, “that you haven’t let any nonsense I may have talked when I was off my head——”
“Oh, don’t be afraid. I am discretion itself.”