"I haven't seen a soul for months," he said, contemplating her with admiring gratitude. "Denis has been inseparably wedded to that darned aeroplane of his, and my daddy's in bed, bless his heart. You don't know how one gets to pine after somebody from outside. It's a piece of luck, too, having it to ourselves like this. I had to interview Denis in the visitors' room, under the eye of a warder. But when my daddy came to see me he raked up such an appalling amount of dust that ever since, as a special concession, I've been allowed to see visitors here. My daddy is rather talented at raking up a dust. I can do it, too, but not so tactfully as he does. The Governor simply loves daddy, but with me he's at daggers drawn. Are you looking at my choice of literature? Tom keeps me supplied, but it's no good sending anything but sixpennies, because I have to leave 'em all behind when I go, for the benefit of the prison library. Vingt Ans Après—jolly tale, isn't it? I always have agreed with Rochefort—je ne suis que d'un parti, c'est du parti du grand air!"
Lettice put down the book—quite quickly. "And what do you do all day?" she asked.
"What do I do? Would you like a time-table? I get up about five, have breakfast, then tidy my room. Chapel's at seven; visitors between ten and twelve; exercise between eleven and twelve, if it's fine—if it's wet I don't get any. That's about the worst part of this place. I told the Governor one day it would do me less harm to get soaked outside than to dry-rot in here, but he wouldn't see it. A rule is a rule. Silly business, what?"
"But what do you do? Don't you go out to work?"
He shook his head, laughing. "I'm still innocent. I don't mix with the convicted prisoners. I should be allowed to work at my own trade in my cell, if they had the necessary tools; but I'm afraid they're not likely to import a hotel to be run. I've sewn mail-bags from time to time, when I got very bored."
"Then do you mean to say you're in this, this, this—this horrid little hole of a place the whole day long when it's raining, and all except one hour when it isn't?"
He laughed again. "Lettice, what a first-class rebel you'd make! I never knew any one sit down more uncomfortably under what you think injustice than you do!"
To that Lettice said nothing; she never would talk about herself. "And does nobody come to see you?" she asked.
"To be sure they do. The chaplain's perseveringly chatty; he's another who fell a victim to my daddy. The doctor's been once—and that was really rather funny. You know, by a most odd coincidence, he was actually at the Easedale at the time of the row—was called to view the body and gave evidence at the inquest. Of course it's not etiquette for him to remember that now, and you may bet he doesn't! Only we look at each other with what you might call an eye. I'm not his regular patient yet, but I shall be when I'm convicted."