I was not with you.

I do not think anybody suspects that you are ill because--because of _her_." "Ill because of her!" he sharply repeated, the words breaking from him in his agony, in his shrinking dread at finding so much suspected.

"I am ill from fever.

What else should I be ill from ?" Lucy went close to his chair and stood before him meekly.
"I am so sorry," she whispered.

"I cannot help seeing things, but I did not mean to make you angry." He rose, steadying himself by the table, and laid his hand upon her head, with the same fond motion that a father might have used.
"Lucy, I am not angry--only vexed at being watched so closely," he concluded, his lips parting with a faint smile.
In her earnest, truthful, serious face of concern, as it was turned up to him, he read how futile it would be to persist in his denial.
"I did not watch you for the purpose of watching.