A door opens at the rear of the car. The sister comes with a light and looks at me.

“He has fallen out of bed⁠—”

She feels my pulse and smooths my forehead. “You haven’t any fever, though.”

“No,” I agree.

“Have you been dreaming then?” she asks.

“Perhaps⁠—” I evade. The interrogation starts again. She looks at me with her clear eyes, and the more wonderful and sweet she is the less am I able to tell her what I want.

I am lifted up into bed again. That will be all right. As soon as she goes I must try to climb down again. If she were an old woman, it might be easier to say what a man wants, but she is so very young, at the most twenty-five, it can’t be done, I cannot possibly tell her.