Again it seemed as
though in the last hour he had been intoxicated, and this the depression
to follow that kind of exuberance. But he looked up as he heard her, and
smiled a little, a wan, tired smile. She was beside him in an instant.
"You seemed so happy this afternoon, dear," she said, stroking his hair,
"and now you seem so tired. Aren't you well, Karl?" she asked, a little
timidly.
His face then mirrored a dissatisfaction, a sort of resentment.
"I talked like a fool this afternoon!" he said gruffly.
"Why, no, dear, only--not quite like yourself."
"Well, the fact of the matter is"--this after a minute's thought--"I have
a frightful headache. I suppose it comes from this trouble with my eyes.
I thought I wasn't going to be able to keep up, and in my efforts to do
it, I"--he paused and then laughed rather harshly--"overdid it."
He seemed anxious for her reply to that.
"I knew it was something like that," she said simply. Then, after a
minute: "Is there anything I can do for the head?"
He told her no, but that he believed he would turn the chair around with
his back to the light.
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