The dark
eyes lighted with pleasure as they fell upon Bell's queer, shambling
figure and white hair.
"The labour we delight in physics pain," he greeted with a laugh and a
groan. "It's worth a badly twisted shoulder to have the pleasure of
seeing Hatherly Bell again. My dear fellow, how are you?"
The voice was low and pleasant, there was no trace of insanity about the
speaker. Bell shook the proffered hand. For some little time the
conversation proceeded smoothly enough. The stranger was a good talker;
his remarks were keen and to the point.
"I hope you will be comfortable here," Bell suggested.
A faint subtle change came over the other's face.
"All but one thing," he whispered. "Don't make a fuss about it, because
Cross is very kind. But I can't stand the electric light. It reminds me
of the great tragedy of my life. But for the electric light I should be a
free man with a good practice to-day."
"So you are harping on that string again," Bell said, coldly. "I fancied
that I had argued you out of that. You know perfectly well that it is all
imagination, Heritage."
Heritage passed his left hand across his eyes in a confused kind of way.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224