“You’ll change your mind when you’ve got your wish.”
“And there you’re wrong. I’ll be content then. I’m content now, for that matter. It’s as good as a play to see how the virtuous people look up to me.”
Lucian leaned back in the attitude proper to meditation, and studied his vis-à-vis over his joined finger-tips. Strength of body, strength of mind, a will keen as a knife-blade to cut through obstacles, an arrogant pride in himself and his sins, all these had writ themselves large on Farquhar’s face; but the acute mind of the critic was questing after more amiable qualities.
“And so you took me in as an instance of chivalrous charity, eh? And what do you keep me here for, now I’m sain and safe?”
“You’re not well enough to be dismissed cured.”
“I beg your pardon. I could go and hold horses to-morrow.”
“I shall have to find some work for you before I let you go. I like to do the thing thoroughly.”
“I see. I’m being kept as an object-lesson in generosity; is that so?”
“You’ve hit it,” said Farquhar. “Hope you like the position. Have a cigar?”
“No, thanks. I don’t mind being a sandwich-man, but I draw the line at an object-lesson.” Lucian got up, and began buttoning his coat round him. “If that’s your reason for keeping me, I’m off.”