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"Wick, I could never sit through it. I'd spoil it for you and Helen and I'd be miserable myself." Unintentionally he made the pathetic, the disarming admission: "Wick, I've only just recovered--it's only been three days. I couldn't concentrate."

The brother looked at him searchingly, almost sadly, he thought. "I wouldn't keep asking you, Don, if I didn't think it would do you good. It would do you so much good."

He smiled again, hanging onto his patience for dear life. "I'd run into someone I know and I can't see anybody."

"You wouldn't see anybody."

"Oh yes I would. And besides there's Helen. I can't have even her see me."

"Helen's seen you like this dozens of times."

"There--you see? I do show it."

"You're exaggerating all this, Don, and just indulging yourself. Listen, Don. If I'm willing to take off the rest of the week, to take you away for a long weekend in the country--just the two of us and Mac--I should think you could do this one thing for me. Please come with us."

He looked at the Scottie curled up in its basket, absently watching the two brothers. After a long pause, while he gathered his breath and his brother regarded him in that worried puzzled way, he said: "I don't mean to be stubborn but I'm not exaggerating and I'm not really indulging myself. Please try to understand. One more day and I'll be all right, but today--I can't go out now and I certainly can't go sit through Tristan. Tonight, when we get together in the car and drive away, fine. But not now.--Wick, I'd go to pieces if I went out now."