"The stuff that doctors talk when they can do no good, and want to get comfortably out of the house! Alicia!" She bent forward startled. "Alicia!--are you going to stick to me?" His eyes held her. "Oliver!--what a cruel question!" "No, it is not cruel." He spoke with a decision which took no account of her caresses. "I ought to give you up--I know that perfectly well. But I tell you frankly I shall have no motive to get well if you leave me. I think that man told me the truth--I did my best to make him. There _is_ a chance of my getting well--the thing is _not_ hopeless. If you'll stand by me, I'll fight through. Will you?" He looked at her with a threatening and painful eagerness. "Of course I will," she said, promptly. "Then let us tell my mother to-night that we are engaged? Mind, I am not deceiving you. I would give you up at once if I were hopelessly ill. I am only asking you to bear a little waiting--and wretchedness--for my sake." "I will bear anything. Only, dear Oliver--for your sake--for mine--wait a little longer! You know what horrible gossip there's been!" She clung to him, murmuring: "I couldn't bear that anybody should speak or think harshly of you now. It can make no difference to you and me, but two or three months hence everybody would take it so differently. You know we said in June--six months." Her voice was coaxing and sweet. He partly withdrew himself from her, however. "At least, you can tell my mother," he said, insisting. "Of course, she suspects it all." "Oh, but, dear Oliver!"--she brought her face nearer to his, and he saw the tears in her eyes--"one's own mother ought to know first of all. Mamma would be so hurt--she would never forgive me. Let me pay this horrid visit--and then go home and tell my people--if you really, really wish it. Afterward of course, I shall come back to you--and Cousin Lucy shall know--and at Christmas--everybody." "What visit? You _are_ going to Eastham?--to the Tresham's?" It was a cry of incredulous pain. "How _can_ I get out of it, dear Oliver? Evelyn has been _so_ ill!--and she's been depending on me--and I owe her so much. You know how good she was to me in the Season." He lifted himself again on his cushions, surveying her ironically--his eyes sunken and weak--his aspect ghastly. "Well, how long do you mean to stay? Is Lord Philip going to be there?" "What do I care whether he is or not!" "You said you were longing to know him." "That was before you were ill." "I don't see any logic in that remark." He lay looking at her. Then suddenly he put out an arm, pulled her down to him feebly, and kissed her. But the movement hurt him. He turned away with some broken words--or, rather, moans--stifled against his pillows. "Dear, do lie still. Shall I read to you?" He shook his head. "Don't stay with me. I shall be better after dinner." She rose obediently, touched him caressingly with her hand, drew a light shawl over him, and stole away.