Curious to say, in the midst of all that confusion
of anger, disgust, contempt, and
disappointment, which seemed to choke him
disagreeably, like a cloud of dust, he felt a sudden
sharp stroke of pain, not coming from his recent
illness or suffering, but of a kind that surprised
him. It was not known to physicians or
surgeons.

For the rest of the day he was moody, and
bitter, and pettish, and felt a curious
restlessness, which prevented his settling down to Mr.
Mudie, or, indeed, to anything serious.

CHAPTER XVIII. ROGER LE GARÇON.

CAPTAIN FERMOR often said pleasantly that he
was "a social Van Amburgh," and that he could
tame any savage human lion with his steel whip.
Pleased with himself for his handling of the next
door wild animal, he very soon began to regard
the wild animal itself with complacency. He
was like a tonic, he thought, like bitters even: it
was refreshing to meet these odd mental crooked
sticks. The common run of minds were a heap
of smooth sticks turned in a lathe. One stick
was the duplicate of the other. And in this
train of thought it occurred to him that it
would be a "gentlemanly" thing for Van
Amburgh to go in and call on the wild animal he
had so happily tamed.

He knocked. A grim woman, like a Swiss
toy, said that master was out—out in the garden,
that is, which was as good as out. Let him
"leave his business," whatever that might be.
Fermor, growing highly sensitive, and selecting
a card, was nervously making protest against
the idea of his being supposed to be eager to
secure his way, "Not at all! Pray don't, I
have not the least wish in the world,—just
give that, if you please," when there appeared
at the end of the hall the tall, grim, cast-iron
figure of Mr. Carlay, with a grey hat on, that
looked like a stiff steel helmet, and leaning on
a stick that might have been an iron rod.

"Captain Fermor," he said, without advancing
to meet him, "from next door? Do you
wish me to do anything for you? It is quite
useless asking me. I know nobody, and nobody
knows me."

"Excuse me," said Fermor, hastily, "you
quite misunderstand. You need be under no
apprehensions. Merely the common every-day
form of leaving a card."

"A card?" said the other, taking it from the
maid, and looking at it as if it were a curiosity.
"Ah! I am outside all this sort of thing. One
of the forms, as you say."

Not relishing the way in which his well-meant
condescension was being accepted, Fermor said,
"I am really sorry to have intruded on you. In
fact, I—almost a mistake indeed. So you will
excuse me."

He bowed and was going, when the grim
voice said shortly, "Wait. Would you come
into the garden a moment?"

"I don't understand," said Fermor, hesitating.
"I don't care for flowers."

"I should not care to show you what I don't
care for myself. I want to show you what I
do care for—my daughter."

Fermor shrugged his shoulders as though he
said, "I object to the whole business, but as there
is a lady—lead on!"

The girl was sitting, as usual, in the sun, on
a cushioned chair, and her head rested languidly
on a soft pillow. Her eyes were fixed vacantly
on one point.

"Here," said Mr. Carlay, stalking down upon
her with the steady swing of a pendulum, "here
is Mr. Fermor, the gentleman who sent the dog
away."

The girl raised her head in some confusion,
for she had thought it was only her father
returning on his old grim beat.

Fermor, himself again in the presence of a
lady, thought he would "reassure" her, and got
on his most soothing manner. He was sorry
to see she had been suffering, he hoped she was
getting better. He was sure the air was good,
at least he had found it so, for they were
both invalids. His, indeed, was only a trifling
accident, a scratch; people had, however,
insisted.

Fermor used often pleasantly to divide
humanity into tongues without ears, and into ears
without tongues. The convalescent girl was of
this latter class. He might, too, have classed
her as a "devotional ear." In a very few
moments he had set his fluency stop on, and the
το εγω was whirring round.

"Now take me," he said, "for instance. I
think I may say I am independent of the usual
associations. Someway I have trained myself
to it. Other men talk of being bored, and that
sort of thing. I can hardly follow them. I
confess I have trained my mind systematically.
I don't allow myself to be bored. / don't make
any boast of it, &c., &c."

And in this way he aired the το εγω up and
down in a gentle canter, and opened to her the
secrets of his personal psychology. She listened
at first a little astonished, then not quite following
him, finally interested. It was all new to
her, who had been accustomed to the grim
gritty diapason of her sire. She was a soft
amiable girl, all gentleness, made for petting,
and to have her hair smoothed through the day
by fond hands. Seeing he had touched the
proper key, Fermor put spurs to the το εγω,
and made it caracole with fire.

The grim Carlay, meanwhile, was walking far
away up and down on a beat as if he were a
Prussian sentry on duty. He took no account,
and was no doubt working the cast-iron
machinery he called his thoughts. After what
Fermor thought of as a "conversation," but
which, strictly, was a monologue, he went away.
The grim sentry never went with him to the
door. And this was Fermor's introduction to
the Carlay family.

"Poor invalid," he thought, "what a life she
must have?" And if his conversation had much
the same virtue as a king's touch was believed