“No, Jack.” All of the tired, strained tone came back in Helen’s voice as she turned away from the bed to conceal her disappointment.
Armstrong sensed it all as he had failed to do at other times since the gap had begun to widen.
“I did not mean that, Helen,” he said, and reaching over he took her hand and drew her to him; “I really did not mean it.”
“It is all right, Jack,” Helen replied, withdrawing her hand and trying to smile; “I will find Inez and send her to you.” And before he could remonstrate she had left the room.
While he waited Armstrong had a brief moment of introspection. Again he had wounded her, and for no cause. He had enjoyed the short period since his awakening, particularly on account of the tender and affectionate care Helen had given him, which she had for a long time withheld because of his own self-centred interest. It was with real regret that he found this little visit with his wife so abruptly brought to an end, yet he himself had forced the termination. He must fight against this unfortunate attribute, he told himself, and show Helen his real feelings toward her.
His reveries were interrupted by Inez’ entrance. Silently she stood beside him, holding out her hand, which he quietly grasped for a moment and then released. He wondered at the color in her face and at her apparent unwillingness to meet his glance.
“They tell me we have been through an accident together,” he said, slowly. “Thank God it was I who was injured and not you.”
Inez turned from him, closing her eyes involuntarily. “Don’t speak of it!” she cried, impulsively; “it was too awful!”
“But it is all over now.”
“All but the memory,” she replied, faintly. “Let us forget it, I beg of you.”