Page:Middle Aged Love Stories (IA middleagedlove00bacorich).djvu/164

 him in the agony of his terrible head aches, housed with strangers, lonely and too proud to ask for help. Her eyes filled with tears, and she leaned impulsively across the table.

"Oh, monsieur, you're ill—you're really ill!" she cried. "Go to the doctor—promise me you'll go! You've not been the same for a week, now; you've been so tired and worn. I've noticed it ever since last week. It was when I first got the notice from Cousin Frank's lawyer that the money was in the bank that you had that terrible headache; don't you know how we sat and talked till so late, and I was so excited? And I've been talking so much and planning so hard that I haven't thought—oh, I'm very selfish, monsieur! It's terrible to think of you being sick just when I'm so happy. You'll go to the doctor? Promise me you will!"

He shook his head.

"But zere is no need for a doctorre, Mlle.