was not miserable. He was happy. And as far as his devastated condition
would allow him, he looked happy. This face, yellow with jaundice, was
doing its best to smile. The smile was a grimace, not an affair of
the lips at all, but of the deep crescent lines drawn at right angles to
them. Still, he was smiling. In a sort of ecstasy.

He was smiling at Viola, who sat in the chair facing him on the other
side of the hearth. She looked as if she had been there for ages. Also,
as if she had been sitting up all night.

She was smiling too, straight at Jevons. What I saw was the beatitude of
his response.

He tried to smile at me, too, as I came in, but the effort was a failure.
He wasn't really a bit glad to see me. Viola got up and left me with him.
I wasn't to stay with him for more than ten minutes, she said. It was the
first day he had been allowed to sit up.

I sat with him for fifteen minutes.

He was lodged, as before, in one room; but its domestic character was
disguised by many ingenious devices giving you the idea that it was
nothing but his study.

Well, there he was, haggard and yellow with jaundice, utterly pitiable as
to his appearance and surroundings; and yet he looked at me in,
positively, a sort of triumph, as much as to say, "Yes. Here I am. And
you, with all your superior resources, haven't managed half so well."

And I thought that he (not knowing Viola so well as I did) was suffering