When Howard returned he found Bodney idly drawing comic pictures on a sheet of paper. He looked at him in astonishment. "Why, what has happened?" Howard asked.
"My fit's passed, that's all. I must have talked like a wild man."
"I rather think you did. You alarmed me—said you were worse than ruined. What has occurred to change it all?"
Bodney laughed as he looked about, making ready to take his leave. He was beginning to be restless, for the fever was rising fast. He turned his eye inward to look for full hands and flushes.
"Nothing has occurred," said he. "The fit of melancholy has simply passed. That's all." He was moving toward the door.
"Don't be in a hurry," said Howard. "There is something I want to talk about."
"I haven't time now," Bodney replied. "I have thought of something that must be attended to at once."
"Just a moment, George. Hasn't Goyle been here?"
"Goyle? No, not today. And, by the way," he added, turning toward Howard, "I think I must have spoken rashly about him just now. There is nothing wrong in his make-up; he may appear queer, but he's all right when you come down to principle. He thinks the world of you."
"I don't want him to think anything of me."