“I have—such an immensity, you don’t know!”
“Good! In that case, you will be able to conceive Dr. Graham Bretton rejecting his supper in the first instance—the chicken, the sweetbread prepared for his refreshment, left on the table untouched. Then——but it is of no use dwelling at length on the harrowing details. Suffice it to say, that never, in the most stormy fits and moments of his infancy, had his mother such work to tuck the sheets about him as she had that night.”
“He wouldn’t lie still?”
“He wouldn’t lie still: there it was. The sheets might be tucked in, but the thing was to keep them tucked in.”
“And what did he say?”
“Say! Can’t you imagine him demanding his divine Ginevra, anathematizing that demon, de Hamal—raving about golden locks, blue eyes, white arms, glittering bracelets?”
“No, did he? He saw the bracelet?”
“Saw the bracelet? Yes, as plain as I saw it: and, perhaps, for the first time, he saw also the brand-mark with which its pressure has encircled your arm. Ginevra” (rising, and changing my tone), “come, we will have an end of this. Go away to your practising.”
And I opened the door.
“But you have not told me all.”