A few moments more of silence; then she was fairly prepared.
"Is he well?" she asked coolly.
"Yes. He had one of those nameless fevers, down there. He's coming out of it all right."
"Is he—his appearance—changed?"
"He's changed a lot, judging from the photographs he showed me taken three or four years ago. He's changed in other ways, too, I fancy."
"How?"
"Oh, I only surmise it. One hears about people—and their characteristics.... Clive is a good deal of a man.... I never had a better companion.... There were hardships—tight corners—we had a bad time of it for a while, along the Andes.... And the
natives are treacherous—every one of them.... He was a good comrade. No man can say more than that, Miss Greensleeve. That includes about everything I ever heard of—when a man proves to be a good comrade. And there is no place on earth where a man can be so thoroughly tried out as in that sunless wilderness."
"Is he stopping at the Great Eastern?"
"Yes. I believe he's going back on Saturday."