“How long have you been in bed?”
“Three days.”
“D’you mean to say you’ve had nothing but a bottle of milk for the last three days? Why on earth didn’t you send me a line? I can’t bear to think of you lying here all day long without a soul to attend to you.”
Cronshaw gave a little laugh.
“Look at your face. Why, dear boy, I really believe you’re distressed. You nice fellow.”
Philip blushed. He had not suspected that his face showed the dismay he felt at the sight of that horrible room and the wretched circumstances of the poor poet. Cronshaw, watching Philip, went on with a gentle smile.