Clarice, with her handkerchief to her mouth, looked at him suddenly and inquiringly. "What do you mean?"
"From what I have seen of Mr. Horran," said Ackworth, quietly, "he does not appear to be ill. His colour is good, he eats well, and sleeps a lot. He has not lost flesh, and his eyes are steady. Certainly, he appears to become giddy at times, but that might be biliousness from his sedentary life. Also he gets cross and fractious--that, again, might be liver. He lives very unhealthily, stewing in that room with a fire, and such an existence is enough to produce all the symptoms he suffers from, without any real physical cause."
"Well?" questioned Clarice, not knowing what this speech meant.
"You won't be offended?" asked Ackworth in his turn, and uneasily.
"With what?"
"I am about to say something about the Purple Fern."
"Yes?" she stared at him, amazed.
Ackworth still continued to sway to and fro, and gazed at the ground as he replied, "Mr. Horran may take exercise at night."
"Go on. I don't understand."
"His illness may be a feint."