He looked at his reflection in a mirror and laughed ruefully.
“You should have seen what I looked like five or six weeks ago,” he added.
“You ought to have let me come out and nurse you,” said Cicely; “you know I wanted to.”
“Oh, they nursed me well enough,” said Yeovil, “and it would have been a shame dragging you out there; a small Finnish health resort, out of the season, is not a very amusing place, and it would have been worse for any one who didn’t talk Russian.”
“You must have been buried alive there,” said Cicely, with commiseration in her voice.
“I wanted to be buried alive,” said Yeovil. “The news from the outer world was not of a kind that helped a despondent invalid towards convalescence. They spoke to me as little as possible about what was happening, and I was grateful for your letters because they also told me very little. When one is abroad, among foreigners, one’s country’s misfortunes cause one an acuter, more personal distress, than they would at home even.”