"You should have let me know."
She went in without a word, and came to a stand before the table that
was littered with his work. She was agitated, he saw. Her hand was
pressed against her heart, and she seemed to breathe with difficulty.
Instinctively he came to her aid with commonplace phrases--the first
that occurred to him. "How did you come? But no matter! Tell me
presently. You must have something to eat. You look dead beat. Sit
down, won't--"
And there he stopped again, breaking off short to stare at her. In the
lighted room she had turned to face him, and he saw that her hair was
no longer golden but silvery white.
Seeing his look, she began to speak in hurried, uneven sentences. "I
have been ill, you know. It--it was brain fever, Jim said. Hair--fair
hair particularly--does go like that sometimes."
"You are well again?" he questioned.
"Oh, quite--quite." There was something almost feverish in the
assertion; she was facing him with desperate resolution. "I have been
well for a long time. Please don't send for anything. I dined at the
dak-bungalow an hour ago. I--I thought it best."
Her agitation was increasing. She panted between each sentence. Will
turned aside, shut and bolted the window, and drew the blind. Then he
went close to her; he laid a steady hand upon her.
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