She could not prevent the smile, not only of bitterness but of frank amusement, that crossed her face. She gave him a glance and very nearly laughed.
"I don't know why you should be so anxious about my health."
He came over to the window and stood looking out at the night. There had never been so many stars in the unclouded sky.
"This isn't the place for a woman in your condition."
She looked at him, white in his thin clothes against the darkness; there was something sinister in his fine profile, and yet oddly enough at this moment it excited in her no fear.
"When you insisted on my coming here did you want it to kill me?" she asked suddenly.
He was so long answering that she thought he had refused to hear.
"At first."
She gave a little shudder, for it was the first time he had admitted his intention. But she bore him no ill will for it. Her feeling surprised herself; there was a certain admiration in it and a faint amusement. She did not quite know why, but suddenly thinking of Charlie Townsend he seemed to her an abject fool.
"It was a terrible risk you were taking," she answered. "With your sensitive conscience I wonder if you could ever have forgiven yourself if I had died."