She felt this
was no small concession on the part of the Disagreeable Man.
He was particularly disagreeable on the day when the Dutchman was buried,
and so the following day when Bernardine met him in the little English
library, she was not surprised to find him almost kindly.
He had chosen the book which she wanted, but he gave it up to her at once
without any grumbling, though Bernardine expected him to change his mind
before they left the library.
"Well," he said, as they walked along together, "and have you recovered
from the death of the Dutchman?"
"Have you recovered, rather let me ask?" she said. "You were in a horrid
mood last night."
"I was feeling wretchedly ill," he said quietly.
That was the first time he had ever alluded to his own health.
"Not that there is any need to make an excuse," he continued, "for I do
not recognise that there is any necessity to consult one's surroundings,
and alter the inclination of one's mind accordingly. Still, as a matter
of fact, I felt very ill!"
"And to-day?" she asked.
"To-day I am myself again," he answered quickly: "that usual normal self
of mine, whatever that may mean. I slept well, and I dreamed of you.
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