“It's worth doing any confounded old thing for,” he declared.
I envied Campion as I had envied no man before. He was alive in heart and soul and brain; I was not quite alive even yet. But I felt better for meeting him. I told him so. He tugged his beard again and laughed.
“I am a happy old crank. Perhaps that's the reason.”
At the door of the hall of the Lambeth Ethical Society he stopped short and turned on me; his jaw dropped and he regarded me in dismay.
“I'm the flightiest and feather-headedest ass that ever brayed,” he informed me. “I just remember I sent Miss Faversham a ticket for this meeting about a fortnight ago. I had clean forgotten it, though something uncomfortable has been tickling the back of my head all the time. I'm miserably sorry.”
I hastened to reassure him. “Miss Faversham and I are still good friends. I don't think she'll mind my nodding to her from the other side of the room.” Indeed, she had written me one or two letters since my recovery perfect in tact and sympathy, and had put her loyal friendship at my service.
“Even if we meet,” I smiled, “nothing tragic will happen.”
He expressed his relief.
“But what,” I asked, “is Miss Faversham doing in this galley?”
“I suppose she is displaying an intelligent interest in modern thought,” he said, with boyish delight at the chance I had offered him.