I
call myself an adventurer, you know, Miss Maggie, although I'm a
poor specimen--but I'm damned if it isn't better to be a poor
adventurer than to be a fat, swollen, contented stay-at-home who can
see just as far as his nose and his cheque-book and might be just as
well dead as alive--I beg your pardon," he added suddenly, "for
swearing--I'm not myself, I'm not really."
She could see indeed that he was in great agitation of mind, and
some of this agitation communicated itself to her. Had she not been
selfish in forgetting all this through her own happiness? He was
right, she was part of it all, whether she wished or no.
"What do you think," she asked, dropping her voice a little, "is the
real truth about it?"
"The real truth"--he looked at her suddenly with a tender, most
charming smile that took away his ugliness. "Ah, that's a tremendous
question. Part of the truth is that Warlock's been praying so much
and eating so little that it would be odd indeed if he didn't see
visions of some sort. And part of the truth is that there are a lot
of women in the world who'll believe simply anything that you tell
them.
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