She cursed herself for a fool. Before she passed out she turned and faced Sir John. It’s not you—not a bit. Then he understood. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. She would be healthy, too, and vigorous. She snatched about in her mind. “Do you mind very much?” He shook his head. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness. Ah!" he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon a small knob in the wall, "there's the spring!" He touched it, and the door flew open. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm.
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