"Did you just wake up?" he said, after a moment. He did not know what to
say.

She now glanced up at him, but with an expression of only partial
attention, as if still retaining a hold on the clue of her thoughts.

"I've been awake some time trying to think it out," she said.

"Think out what?" he asked, with a feeble affectation of ignorance. He
was entirely at loss what course to take with her.

"Why, what it was that we came here to have me forget," she said,
sharply. "You needn't think the doctor made quite a fool of me. It was
something like hewing, harring, Howard. It was something that began with
'H,' I'm quite sure. 'H,'" she continued, thoughtfully, pressing her hand
on the braid she was yet in the act of pushing back from her forehead.
"'H,'--or maybe--'K.' Tell me, Henry. You must know, of course."

"Why--why," he stammered in consternation. "If you came here to forget
it, what's the use of telling you, now you've forgotten it, that is--I
mean, supposing there was anything to forget."

"I haven't forgotten it," she declared. "The process has been a failure
anyhow. It's just puzzled me for a minute. You might as well tell me.
Why, I've almost got it now. I shall remember it in a minute," and she
looked up at him as if she were on the point of being vexed with his
obstinacy. The doctor coming into the room at this moment, Henry turned
to him in his perplexity, and said--