"It is in my boots now," said the invalid, plaintively; "tight boots, too. Do you know what I was thinking just now when you looked at me in that alarmed, compassionate way?"
"Not alarmed," muttered Miss Hartley.
"I was thinking," pursued Mr. Vyner, in a rapt voice, "I was thinking what a fine nurse you would make. Talking of heart troubles put it in my mind, I suppose. Fancy being down for a month or two with a complaint that didn't hurt or take one's appetite away, and having you for a nurse!"
"I think that if you are going to talk nonsense—" began Joan, half stopping.
"I'm not," said the other, in alarm, "I've quite finished; I have, indeed."
He stole a glance at the prim young, figure by his side, and his voice again developed a plaintive note. "If you only knew what it was like," he continued, "to be mewed up in an office all day, with not a soul to speak to, and the sun shining, perhaps you'd make allowances."
"I saw you down by the harbour this morning," said the girl.
"Harbour?" said the other, pretending to reflect—"this morning?"
Joan nodded. "Yes; you were lounging about—in the sunshine—smoking a cigarette. Then you went on to the Indian Chief and stood talking for, oh, quite a long time to Captain Trimblett. Then—"
"Yes?" breathed Mr. Vyner, as she paused in sudden confusion. "What did I do next?"