John, who was
reading _The_ _Times_ in the verandah. He laid it aside patiently, and
heard all that Terence had to say about delirium. He was very patient
with Terence. He treated him like a child.
By Friday it could not be denied that the illness was no longer an
attack that would pass off in a day or two; it was a real illness that
required a good deal of organisation, and engrossed the attention of
at least five people, but there was no reason to be anxious. Instead
of lasting five days it was going to last ten days. Rodriguez was
understood to say that there were well-known varieties of this illness.
Rodriguez appeared to think that they were treating the illness with
undue anxiety. His visits were always marked by the same show of
confidence, and in his interviews with Terence he always waved aside
his anxious and minute questions with a kind of flourish which seemed
to indicate that they were all taking it much too seriously. He seemed
curiously unwilling to sit down.
"A high temperature," he said, looking furtively about the room,
and appearing to be more interested in the furniture and in Helen's
embroidery than in anything else. "In this climate you must expect a
high temperature. You need not be alarmed by that. It is the pulse we
go by" (he tapped his own hairy wrist), "and the pulse continues
excellent."
Thereupon he bowed and slipped out.
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