Jeff faced round toward her. “What makes you think he isn't well?”
“He's weaker. Haven't you noticed it?”
“Yes, I have noticed that. He's worked down; that's all.”
“No, that isn't all. But if you don't think so—”
“I want to know what you think, Cynthy,” said Jeff, with the amorous resentment all gone from his voice. “Sometimes folks outside notice the signs more—I don't mean that you're an outsider, as far as we're concerned—”
She put by that point. “Father's noticed it, too; and he's with Jackson a good deal.”
“I'll look after it. If he isn't so well, he's got to have a doctor. That medium's stuff can't do him any good. Don't you think he ought to have a doctor?”
“Oh yes.”
“You don't think a doctor can do him much good?”
“He ought to have one,” said the girl, noncommittally.