"Does he suffer much?" she murmured.

When answered, she asked nervously how he looked--it was impossible that
she should consider misery without shrinking. I told her that he was
only flushed and haggard as yet and that he was little wasted. A thought
flashed to her face. She was about to speak, but paused. After a
moment, however, she remarked evenly: "He is likely to be delirious?"

"It is probable," I replied.

Her eyes were fixed on the search-light. The look in them was
inscrutable. She continued quietly: "I will go and see him, if you will
let me. Justine will go with me."

"Not now," I replied. "He is sleeping. To-morrow, if you will."

I did not think it necessary to tell her that Justine was at that moment
watching beside him. We walked the deck together in silence.

"I wonder," she said, "that you care to walk with me. Please do not make
the matter a burden."

She did not say this with any invitation to courteous protest on my part,
but rather with a cold frankness--for which, I confess, I always admired
her. I said now: "Mrs. Falchion, you have suggested what might easily be
possible in the circumstances, but I candidly admit that I have never yet
found your presence disagreeable; and I suppose that is a comment upon my
weakness. Though, to speak again with absolute truth, I think I do not
like you at this present."