He certainly must be ill or in pain.
"Are you--" I began.
But with a sudden effort he rose to his feet, and with a glance at Jack motioned to me to be silent, and leave the question unasked.
"What ?" said Jack, turning round to me.
"Are you--going to write a long letter ?" I asked.
"I can't say till I begin," said Jack, laughing, and sitting down to write.
"I'll say good-night," said Mr Smith, in a hoarse but otherwise composed voice.
"Good-night," said Jack.

"I wish you'd get rid of your cold.

All that night work must be bad for you." Mr Smith shook hands with me in silence and quitted the room.

I heard his footsteps go strangely down the stairs, and his door shut behind him in the room below.
I didn't feel comfortable.

I was afraid he was ill--more ill than he wished either of us to suspect.