Dalton had; and by the answering gleam in his eye, showed he was rewarded for the whim which had prompted him to be the bearer of the good tidings. It amused him to play with this pretty child-wife, and sound the depths of her nature—if there were any!
"What is your age?" he asked abruptly, with a doctor's licence to question a patient as he chose.
"I was nineteen in summer."
"You have no business with a baby when you are one yourself! Now for your tea," and he held the cup while she leant on her elbow to drink its contents, a shower of honey-gold hair falling about her face.
"Is your head very bad?" he asked when she had finished.
"How did you know that it ached?" she questioned.
"I have ways of finding out. Your pulse and your flush, for example."
"Then I am ill?" she asked in alarm. If she were to be ill, who would take care of the child?
"A little ill."
"Fever?"