"Of course--you're mad with me--you've got every right to be--it was a
rotten thing to do--bolting like that--beastly ungrateful and
inconsiderate. It was just because I couldn't explain. I knew you
thought it was the fresh air and--and hunting down those poor jolly
little beggars--and all the time it was just a girl and a blessed tune
running through my head."
He began to hum, beating time with tipsy solemnity, and even then the
wretched song brought something riotous and headlong into the subdued
room.
The door seemed to have been flung violently open with an explosive
gesture, as though some invisible showman had called out: "Look who's
here!" and the woman herself had catherine-wheeled into their midst,
standing there in her exotic gorgeousness, with her arms spread out in
salutation and her mouth parted in that rather simple smile. Robert
could almost smell the faint perfume that surrounded her like a cloud.
It was ridiculous--yet for the moment she was so real, that he could
have taken her by the shoulders and thrust her out.
"And you did want me to get better, didn't you?" Cosgrave pleaded
wistfully, "even if it wasn't with your medicine. And in a sort of way
it was your medicine, wasn't it? You made me go to see her."
Stonehouse had to sit down and pretend to rearrange his papers in order
to hide how impatient he felt.
"My professional vanity isn't wounded, if that's what you're getting
at. If you were better I'd be very glad.
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