tea-gown, she reclined in an easy-chair. Her beautiful face was a dead white; her eyes were dilated, and under them were dark semicircles.
“You have been ill,” I exclaimed, “and I was not told.”
She shrugged her shoulders in denial, and shivered.
“No,” she said shortly. There was a pause. “He is buried?”
“Yes.”
“Let me hear about it.”
I wished to question her further about her health, but her tone was almost imperious, and I had a curious fear of offending her. Nevertheless I reminded myself that I was a doctor, and my concern for her urged me to be persistent.