"'But, don't you see?' said I. 'It's scarcely the face of a bronze figure. It's almost human. No; it isn't even human. It's the face of some devil.' Margot laughed.
"'Yes: he isn't very cheerful,' she said. 'Scarcely a boudoir ornament, eh? I'll throw a blanket over Albertus if you like.'
"'I really wish you would,' I said, 'I don't care so long as he can't grin at me.'
"Somehow, with the bronze figure covered up, I felt much lighter and happier.
"I think that Margot—that Margot must have been rather overstrained after the struggle with that brute. She seemed to be all nerves—upset: insisted in putting her little white hand on mine in a very solemn way, and thanking me for all sorts of imaginary favours.... Got 'a wheeze' into her head, among other rot, that I had saved her life.
"'Look here,' I said. 'I wish you wouldn't talk so jolly silly. I'm not a bit unselfish, I'm a novelist. There was nothin' doin' with my crowd—regiment I mean—and so I came here to look for "copy." That was why I persisted in seeing you home here. It was all just a matter of "copy" to me—at the start.' I paused, and Margot turned her tourmaline eyes full on me. Had you asked me after my first visit to old Ombos what Margot's eyes were like I could not have told you the colour to save my life. If I had been forced to weigh out a guess I might have said they were a shade of grey. Grey? Name of a little dog! Yes, I should have called 'em grey, but that would have been like describing the Pyramids by saying they were stone. However can I describe the wonder that I found ..."
A sort of flush appeared on Crabbe's boyish face. "I—I'm afraid I have run off the track of my story a bit," he stammered, "but I may as well tell you all of it."
"Take a drink of whiskey;" said Duckford slowly, "and take your own time."
"Margot looked at me, her lips quivering. 'You've not found much "copy" I'm afraid,' she answered despondently.
"'Now,' I said, meeting her eyes, '"copy" matters not at all ... you are all that matters.'