tropical relatives in South America? I've left everything to you to do
what you like with. Squander it if you like, but I expect you'll give
it to war charities. Anyhow, I thought it would be safest in your
hands."

He retorted in a tone quietly and sardonically challenging:

"But I was under the impression you were cured."

"Of my neurasthenia?"

"Yes."

"I believe I am. I gained thirteen pounds in the nursing home, and
slept like a greengrocer. In fact, the Weir-Mitchell treatment, with
modern improvements of course, enjoyed a marvellous triumph in my
case. But that's not the point. G.J., I know you think I behaved very
childishly yesterday, and that I deserved to be ill to-day for what
I did yesterday. And I admit you're a saint for not saying so. But
I wasn't really childish, and I haven't really been ill to-day. I've
only been in a devil of a dilemma. I wanted to tell you something. I
telegraphed for you so that I could tell you. But as soon as I saw you
I was afraid to tell you. Not afraid, but I couldn't make up my mind
whether I ought to tell you or not. I've lain in bed all day trying
to decide the point. To-night I decided I oughtn't, and then all of
a sudden, just now, I became an automaton and put on some things, and
here I am telling you."

She paused. G.J. kept silence. Then she continued, in a voice in which
persuasiveness was added to calm, engaging reasonableness: