"Nothing; but--I was telling you, just this minute, I am exhausted--
done for."
I looked at her in dismay, and I saw her heart must be beating
violently; the red geraniums against her breast rose and sank in a
series of rapid, irregular jerks.
"I am sorry," I murmured. "Forgive me;" and my heart sank suddenly
with a vague, in definable sense of apprehension as I looked at her.
Where was the girl who had come to me a year ago, full of
overflowing, eager, exuberant health and life, hungry for love,
longing and ardent for a kiss? Not here; somewhere in the past that
I had neglected and refused. And the contrast between the two images
struck me like a lash across the brain. The next minute I had
recovered myself. This was only a passing in disposition of Lucia's,
the sooner we were married now the better.
"Well, dearest, if it is only hysteria and nervous strain, and so
on," I said, taking up the main thread of our conversation, "then,
for that, our marriage and a long rest, in which you would do
nothing but amuse yourself, would be the best thing. Make up your
mind, Lucia, to give yourself, trust yourself, to me, and I will
promise to get you quite well, sooner than any doctor can. I suppose
you have seen one?"
"Yes."
"Well, what does he do for you?"
"Oh, I take hydrochloric acid, sulphuric acid, and strychnine
through the day, and digitalis and potassium bromide at night.
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