Cub's mouth and feet twitched. He rose and became professional:
"I'm sorry, Miss Merriweather. The cigarette is forbidden. Hospitals are pure places."
"Rats! Ever look in the trash cans in a Nurses' Home?"
She lay silent a minute and wiggled her toes. Then her voice grew small, and she said:
"Sounds like you've been very nice to me. Darned nice! But you have to know sometime and I guess you'd better know now that I haven't any money to pay you. I'm really a waif."
Her eyes blacked. She finished, "Respectable though ... very!"
"But you're too loquacious! And you are pretty sick. Shut up and go to sleep!"
"I told you I'd tell you tomorrow! As for your bills, they are being taken care of, so don't worry."
"Who's paying them? The Attorney-General?"
"You were riding in his car when you were hurt, weren't you?"
Sally Ferguson sat erect and put one hand quickly over her mouth. Sterling caught her by the shoulders and forced her back among the pillows.
"Here," she put her hand on her abdomen and groaned.
Cub began examining her carefully and thoroughly. When he stood up again he said:
"I'm sorry, Sophie! We'll stop it if you want us to. The bills and the pain, too. Talk about them tomorrow. You must get some rest. Lie quiet. Be still...."
Her mouth fell into a fighting straightness. All of the childish freshness which had charmed him when he had first seen her was gone. She lay tense and hard under his hands. Suddenly he knew she was trying not to cry. Calmly he began talking again:
"Accidents knock a darned lot more out of you than you ever suspect at the time, you know. You see, Sophie, if you don't help me, then ... if you get terribly sick and I have a consultation over you ... it'll mean sending for your father ... and it'll be a hell of a mess all around...."
Her body relaxed under his grip. She smiled again and gasped:
When the glass was empty Cub eased her into the pillows and she laughed:
"I didn't mean to hiss in your ear, Doctor, but if I hadn't completed the sentence in one breath, you'd have yelped: 'NO!'"
Dr. Sterling ignored the remark and asked:
"You ought to have better sense than to antagonize your doctor!"
"The hair of the dog is good for his bite," and before Cub could reply, she relaxed her eyes into his and almost whispered: