"Stephen, where are you going? Answer me!"
"I can't answer you."
"Is your illness serious?"
"A--it is--it requires some--some care."
Her fingers tightening around the receiver whitened to the delicate nails under the pressure. Mute, struggling with the mounting impulse, voice and lip unsteady, she still spoke with restraint: "You say you require care? And what care have you? Who is there with you? Answer me!"
"Why--everybody; the servants. I have care enough."
"Oh, the servants! Have you a physician to advise you?"
"Certainly--the best in the world. Sylvia, dea--, Sylvia, I didn't mean to give you an impression--"
"Stephen, I will have you truthful with me! I know perfectly well you are ill. I--if I could only--if there was something, some way--Listen: I am--I am going to do something about it, and I don't care very much what I do!"
"What sweet nonsense!" he laughed, but his voice was no steadier than hers.
"Will you drive with me?" she asked impulsively, "some afternoon--"
"Sylvia, dear, you don't really want me to do it. Wait, listen: I--I've got to tell you that--that I'm not fit for it. I've got to be honest with you; I am not fit, not in physical condition to go out just yet. I've really been ill--for weeks. Plank has been very nice to me. I want to get well; I mean to try very hard. But the man you knew--is--changed."
"Changed?"
"Not in that way!" he said in a slow voice.
"H-how, then?" she stammered, all a-thrill.
"Nerve gone--almost. Going to get it back again, of course. Feel a million times better already for talking with you."
"Do--does it really help?"
"It's the only panacea for me," he said too quickly to consider his words.
"The only one?" she faltered. "Do you mean to say that your trouble--illness--has anything to do with--"
"No, no! I only--"
"Has it, Stephen?"
"No!"
"Because, if I thought--"
"Sylvia, I'm not that sort! You mustn't talk to me that way. There's nothing to be sorry for about me. Any man may lose his nerve, and, if he is a man, go after it and get it back again. Every man has a fighting chance. You said it yourself once--that a man mustn't ask for a fighting chance; he must take it. And I'm going to take it and win out one way or another."
"What do you mean by 'another,' Stephen?"
"I--Nothing. It's a phrase."
"What do you mean? Answer me!"
"It's a phrase," he said again; "no meaning, you know."
"Stephen, Mr. Plank says that you are lame."
"What did he say that for?" demanded Siward wrathfully.