"I had inflammation of something or other, and I went partially off my head--got out of bed and walked about in an east wind with a temperature of a hundred and two, decimal point nine." "Oh, Louis, how wicked of you! You might have died!" "No such luck." "For shame! I've been ill too; did you know?
Of course you didn't, or else you'd have come to ask how I was, wouldn't you?
No, you wouldn't.
How could you come when you were ill ?" "I would have come.

I didn't know." "Didn't you?
Oh, well--we had a fire here, and I was burnt; that's all.
How funny you not knowing, though.

It was in all the papers--'Heroic conduct of a lady.' Aren't they silly, those people that write papers.
I wasn't heroic a bit." "I--I never saw it.

I was in Paris." "In Paris?
Ah, I love Paris! That's where I went for my honeymoon.

Was that where you were ill ?" "Yes." "Poor Louis! And I was so happy there." Poor Louis!--she had loved Nevill in him and he was still a part of Nevill.