“You feel worse to-day, dear?” said she, in the tones that sound carefully attuned to create an impression of sympathy.  Hers had now become the mechanically saccharine voice which sardonic time ultimately fastens upon the professionally sympathetic to make them known and mocked of all, even of the vainest seekers after sympathy.

“On the contrary, I feel better,” he drawled, eyes half-shut.  “No pain at all.  But—­horribly weak, as if I were going to faint in a minute or two—­and I don’t give a damn for anything.”  There was a personal fling in that last word, an insinuation that he knew her state of mind toward him, and reciprocated.

“Well, to-morrow Janet and her baby will be here,” said Mrs. Whitney, and her soothing tones seemed to stimulate him by irritation.  “Then we’ll all go down to Saint X together, if you still wish it.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, I tell you!” he said with some energy in his drawl. “Don’t talk to me as if you were hanging over my deathbed lying to me about my going to live!” And he closed his eyes, and his breath made his parted, languid lips flutter.

“Mr. Vagen,” said Matilda, in her tone of sweet graciousness, “may I trouble you to go and—­”

“Go to the devil, Vagen,” said Charles, starting up again that slow stream of fainting words and sentences.  “Anywhere to get you out of the room so you won’t fill the flapping ears of your friends with gossip about Whitney and his wife.  Though why she should send you out I can’t understand.  If you and the servants don’t hear what’s going on, you make up and tattle worse than what really happens.”

Mrs. Whitney gave Vagen a look of sweet resignation and Vagen responded with an expression which said:  “I understand.  He is very ill.  He is not responsible.  I admire your ladylike patience.”  As Whitney’s eyes were closed he missed this byplay.

“Here, Vagen—­before you go,” he drawled, waving a weary hand toward the table at his elbow.  “Here’s a check for ten thousand.  You don’t deserve it, for you’ve used your position to try to get rich on the sly.  But inasmuch as I was ‘on to’ you, and dropped hints that made you lose, I’ve no hard feelings.  Then, too, you did no worse than any other would have done in your place.  A man’s as good, and as bad, as he has the chance to be.  So take it.  I’ve not made my will yet, and as I may not be able to, I give you the money now.  You’ll find the check in this top drawer, and some other checks for the people near me.  I suppose they’ll expect something—­I’ve got ’em into the habit of it.  Take ’em and run along and send ’em off right away.”

Vagen muttered inarticulate thanks.  In fact, the check was making small impression on him, or the revelation that his chief had eyes as keen for what was going on under his nose as for the great movements in the big field.  He could think only of that terrifying weakness, that significant garrulousness.