"You do not? It is a tremendous kindness to him, I assure you. To have a place of his own has long been his dream, he tells me; but he cannot afford it without the financial assistance I would give. Again, even if he could finance it, he would not venture to try it alone, because of his health. It appears that he is subject to some kind of attacks—heart, I suppose—and does not want to be alone. I have heard him walking his floor at 3 o'clock in the morning. Do you know anything about his life?"
"No. Nothing."
"I know everything."
He paused for her to ask him questions, that he might have the pleasure of refusing her. But instead of prying, Sharlee said: "Still I'm sorry that you are going."
"Well? Why?"
"Because," said Sharlee.
"Proceed."
"Because I don't like his eyes."
"The question, from your point of view," said Mr. Queed, "is a moral—not an optic one. These acts which confer benefits on others," he continued, "so peculiarly commended by your religion, are conceived by it to work moral good to the doer. The eyes (which you use synecdochically to represent the character) of the person to whom they are done, have nothing—"
"Mr. Queed," said Sharlee, briskly interrupting his exegetical words, "I believe you are going off with Professor Nicolovius chiefly because—you think he needs you!"