"Don't go, mother," he said. "I'm not asleep." He swung his long
legs over the side of the bed to rise, but she set a hand on his
shoulder, restraining him; and he lay flat again.
"No," she said, bending over to kiss his cheek, "I just come for
a minute, but I want to see how you seem. Edith said--"
"Poor Edith!" he murmured. "She couldn't look at me. She--"
"Nonsense!" Mrs. Sheridan, having let in the light at a window, came
back to the bedside. "You look a great deal better than what you did
before you went to the sanitarium, anyway. It's done you good; a body
can see that right away. You need fatting up, of course, and you
haven't got much color--"
"No," he said, "I haven't much color."
"But you will have when you get your strength back."
"Oh yes!" he responded, cheerfully. "THEN I will."
"You look a great deal better than what I expected."
"Edith must have a great vocabulary!" he chuckled.
"She's too sensitive," said Mrs. Sheridan, "and it makes her
exaggerate a little. What about your diet?"
"That's all right. They told me to eat anything."
"Anything at all?"
"Well--anything I could."
"That's good," she said, nodding.
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