"You are starving her," he told the nurses fiercely.
They referred him to the doctor.
Eric telephoned Richard.
"My dear fellow," was the response, "her appetite is a sign that she is getting well."
"So are they all. I have to steel my heart against them, especially the children. And half of the convalescents are reading cook books."
"Cook books!"
"Yes. In that way they get a meal by proxy. I tell them to pick out the things they are going to have when they are well enough to eat all they want. Their choice ranges from Welsh rarebits to plum puddings."
He laughed, but Eric saw nothing funny in the matter. "I can't bear to see her—suffer."
Richard was sobered at once. "Don't think that I am not sympathetic. But—Brand, I don't dare-feel. If I did, I should go to pieces."