Neither said anything until after she had delicately tied
a string around the bandage to keep it in place, and then she stepped
back and regarded her work with satisfaction.
"There," she said; "doesn't that feel better?"
"Some," he returned, grudgingly. He stood up and watched her while she
spread a cloth partly over the table and placed some dishes and food
upon it. He was hungry, and the sight of the food made him feel
suddenly ravenous. He watched her covertly, noting her matter-of-fact
movements. It was as though she had not the slightest idea that he
would refuse to eat, and he felt certain that he could not refuse. She
was making him feel uncomfortable again; that epithet, "silly," rankled
in him and he did not want to hear her apply it to him again. But he
would have risked it had she looked at him. She did not look at him.
When she had finally arranged everything to suit her taste she turned
her back and walked to the door of the dining-room.
"There is your supper," she said quietly. "I have fixed up your room
for you--the room you occupied before you left home. I am going to
leave the light burning in the dining-room--you might want to read your
letter again. Blow the light out when you go to bed. Good night."
He grumbled an incoherent reply, turning his back to her.
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