He saw himself, felt himself being gradually devitalized,
with only the placid brain left, considering only the problem of hourly
comfort, and trying to neutralize the penalties of blindness. She must
not be sacrificed to that, for apart from all else she had greatness of a
kind in her. He knew far better than he had said of the storm of emotion
in her, and he knew that she had not exaggerated the temptation which
sang in her ears. Jethro Fawe--the thought of the man revolted him; and
yet there was something about the fellow, a temperamental power, the
glamour and garishness of Nature's gifts, prostituted though they were,
finding expression in a striking personality, in a body of athletic
grace--a man-beauty.
"Have you seen Jethro Fawe lately?" he asked. "Not since"--she was going
to say not since the morning her father had passed the sentence of the
patrin upon him; but she paused in time. "Not since everything happened
to you," she added presently.
"He knows the game is up," Ingolby remarked with forced cheerfulness. "He
won't be asking for any more."
"It's time for your milk and brandy," she said suddenly, emotion
subsiding and a look of purpose coming into her face. She poured out the
liquid, and gave the glass into his hand.
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