“Cinderella's fairy godmother couldn't have made the transformation with that room,” she said with a little shrug of despair.
“Probably not—probably not—and I lay no claim to even the least of the powers exercised by the old lady with the wand. But I allow no man to surpass me in the matter of good intentions. That is a luxury of which the poorest of us can afford an abundance, and I will not deny myself anything that is so cheap.”
Rachel was beguiled into smiling at his merry cynicism.
“Allusions to the pavement in the unmentionable place are barred in this connection,” he continued gayly. “On my way to carry out these good intentions—at some one else's expense, remember, all the time—I was called to the bedside of a dying man, and detained there some time. When I at last returned to your room, I judged that you were fast asleep, and I decided not to disturb you.”
“I think you would have found it a difficult matter to have roused me. I had sunk on the cot, and was sleeping the sleep of—”
“The just,” interposed Dr. Denslow, gallantly.
“No, of the fatigued.”
“Well, scientific truth compels me to say that fatigue is a surer and stronger sedative than a clear conscience even. I know, for I have occasionally tried a clear conscience—only by way of experiment, you know,” he added, apologetically.
“Well, whatever the case, I was sleeping as though on downy beds of ease.”
“Then my mind is lightened of a mountain-load of responsibility for having made you pass a miserable night. But let's go in to breakfast. I am opposed to doing anything on an empty stomach—even to holding a pleasant conversation. It invites malaria, and malaria brings a number of disagreeable sensations which people mistake for repentance, remorse, religious awakening, and so on, according to their mental idiosyncrasies, and the state of their digestion.”