Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. "He is," returned Quilt, significantly. ” “That’s the comfort of you. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life.
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