"Which is another way of saying that it is none of my business. But then you see it is." He offered no explanation of this statement, nor did he give her time to protest. "Now about that wedding present, Miss Valdés. It's in a tin box I had in the cabin before the fire. Can you tell me whether it was saved? My recollection is that I had it at the time the rafter put me to sleep. But of course I don't remember anything more till I found myself in bed here."
"A tin box? Yes; you had it in your hands when Manuel brought you out. They could hardly pry your fingers from it."
"Would you mind having that box brought to me, Miss Valdés? I want to be sure the present hasn't been injured by fire."
"Of course not. I don't just know where it is, but it must be somewhere about the place."
She was stepping toward the door, with that fine reaching grace of a fawn that distinguished her, when his voice stopped her. She stopped, delicate head poised and half turned, apparently waiting for further directions.
"Not just this minute, please. I've been lying here all day, with nobody but Steve. Finally he got so restless I had to turn him out to pasture. It wouldn't be right hospitable to send you away so soon. That box can wait till you have had all of me you can stand. What I need is good nursing, and I need it awful bad," he explained plaintively.
"Has Mrs. Corbett been neglecting you?"
"Mrs. Corbett—no!" he shouted with a spirit indomitable, but a voice still weak. "She's on earth merely to cook me chicken broth and custard. It's you that's been neglecting me."
The gleam of a strange fire was in her dark, bright eyes; in her cheeks the soft glow of beating color.
"And my business on earth is to fight you, is it not? But I can't do that till you are on your feet again, sir."