He did not look very ill. The brown of a year's sunburn such as he
had gone through on the summit of an equatorial mountain where there
was but little atmosphere between earth and sun, does not bleach off
in a couple of months. Physically regarded, he was stronger,
broader, heavier-limbed, more robust, than when she had last seen
him--but her knowledge went deeper than complexion, or the passing
effort of a strong will.
"Sit down," she said quietly. "You are not strong enough to stand
about."
He obeyed her with a little laugh.
"You do not know," he said, "how pleasant it is to see you--fresh
and English-looking. It is like a tonic. Where is Maurice?"
"He will be here soon," she replied; "he is attending to the landing
of the stores. We shall soon make you strong and well; for we have
come laden with cases of delicacies for your special delectation.
Your father chose them himself at Fortnum and Mason's."
He winced at the mention of his father's name, and drew in his legs
in a peculiar, decisive way.
"Then you knew I was ill?" he said, almost suspiciously.
"Yes, Joseph telegraphed."
"To whom?" sharply.
"To Maurice."
Jack Meredith nodded his head. It was perhaps just as well that the
communicative Joseph was not there at that moment.
"We did not expect you for another ten days," said Meredith after a
little pause, as if anxious to change the subject.
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