she broke out with emotion: "I may as well confess it frankly—I'm miserably anxious. Good heavens," she added with impatience, "don't you see it for yourself?"
"I certainly see that you're agitated and absent—as you warned me so promptly you would be. But remember you've quite denied to me the gravity of Mrs. Bream's condition."
Rose's impatience overflowed into a gesture. "I've been doing that to deceive my own self!"
"I understand," said Dennis kindly. "Still," he went on, considering, "it's either one thing or the other. The poor lady's either dying, you know, or she ain't!"
His friend looked at him with a reproach too fine to be uttered. "My dear Dennis—you're rough!"
He showed a face as conscientious as it was blank. "I'm crude—possibly coarse? Perhaps I am—without intention."
"Think what these people are to me," said Rose.
He was silent a little. "Is it anything so very extraordinary? Oh, I know," he went on, as if he feared she might again accuse him of a want
