‘A bit,’ said the doctor; ‘enough to justify those gloomy hopes of yours.’
Paul hung his head in a transient shame, and murmured that he was sorry.
‘Pooh, pooh!’ cried the doctor; ‘you’re all right now. You can bear to hear a little bit of news about the lady?’
‘Yes,’ said Paul, ‘anything.’
‘She’s married,’ said the doctor—‘married to the Honourable Captain MacMadden, and has left the stage.’
‘Did she ever come to see me?’ Paul asked.
‘No,’ said the doctor.
The passion of the youth went to join the calf-love of the boy, and the man accomplished looked on them both with a half-humorous wonder. He was learning his world, he thought. It would not be easy to fool him in that way again.
He sat propped up with pillows in an arm-chair now, and could hold a book; but the lubricant at his joints had all been licked up by the fever, and it was slow to come back again, so that he had hideous twinges when he moved. He had plenty of society now that he was fit for it, for the fellow-boarders were idle during the day, and spared time to sit and talk with him.
‘You recognised old Darco when you saw him, didn’t you?’ one of them asked.