call me a cockney and a fribble. But it wasn't true," he went on;
"if it had been I should have made my way over here long ago:
before--before--" He paused, and his head dropped sadly on his
breast.

The bottle of Burgundy had loosened his tongue; I had but to
choose my time for learning his story. Something told me that I
had gained his confidence and that, so far as attention and
attitude might go, I was "in" for responsibilities. But somehow I
didn't dread them. "Before you lost your health," I suggested.

"Before I lost my health," he answered. "And my property--the
little I had. And my ambition. And any power to take myself
seriously."

"Come!" I cried. "You shall recover everything. This tonic
English climate will wind you up in a month. And THEN see how
you'll take yourself--and how I shall take you!"

"Oh," he gratefully smiled, "I may turn to dust in your hands! I
should like," he presently pursued, "to be an old genteel
pensioner, lodged over there in the palace and spending my days
in maundering about these vistas. I should go every morning, at
the hour when it gets the sun, into that long gallery where all
those pretty women of Lely's are hung--I know you despise them!--
and stroll up and down and say something kind to them. Poor
precious forsaken creatures! So flattered and courted in their
day, so neglected now! Offering up their shoulders and ringlets
and smiles to that musty deadly silence!"