"I wish I were not!" The victim smiled. "But I went on buying after the fall."
Mrs. Cadell's restless eyes met McTaggart's. They both smiled. Then she signalled to the butler to fill up the Bishop's glass.
"Yes, I insist——" as the prelate protested—"it won't hurt you, it's quite light. And here comes your favourite sweet—ordered expressly for you."
The worn face cleared, and he smiled, touched by the other's kindly thought.
"I'm always spoilt in this house," he said, "and I'm afraid that the shocking result is that I take advantage of it, and come too often to loosen my pack of worries here. What can the Sleeping Beauty think of all this dreary business talk?"
He looked across wistfully at Cydonia's lovely face, with next to it the virile contrast of her dark-haired, handsome friend. Only too well he realized the heavy burden of the years and the narrowing road ahead where he must pass with lonely feet. Death he feared not. For the Faith he had long preached was indeed his own. Yet the human in him shrank, faced with the decay of power.
Cydonia's soft brown eyes met his with a child's affection. His question cut across her dreams.
"I?" she hesitated, smiling. "Oh! I like to hear of things."
McTaggart, watching her, caught into his memory an elusive dimple, near the fresh young mouth.
Following up the train of thought provoked by this miracle, he heard the doctor's voice once more, with a note of mischief, in his ears.