No one took such
an interest as herself in his doing only what was good for him, and
she was always on the spot to see that he did it. She made
appointments with him to discuss the best means of economising his
time and protecting his privacy. She further made his health her
special business, and had so much sympathy with my own zeal for it
that she was the author of pleasing fictions on the subject of what
my devotion had led me to give up. I gave up nothing (I don't
count Mr. Pinhorn) because I had nothing, and all I had as yet
achieved was to find myself also in the menagerie. I had dashed in
to save my friend, but I had only got domesticated and wedged; so
that I could do little more for him than exchange with him over
people's heads looks of intense but futile intelligence.
CHAPTER VII.
The young lady in the dining-room had a brave face, black hair,
blue eyes, and in her lap a big volume. "I've come for his
autograph," she said when I had explained to her that I was under
bonds to see people for him when he was occupied. "I've been
waiting half an hour, but I'm prepared to wait all day." I don't
know whether it was this that told me she was American, for the
propensity to wait all day is not in general characteristic of her
race.
Pages:
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44