g (an impulse which I firmly
subdued), so now did my spirit crave some sort of expression in violent
emotion. I was in a mood for enraptured converse with an archangel.

Looking back, I see that Campion's friendly "Hallo" had awakened me from
a world of shadows and set me among realities; the impact of Milligan's
vehement personality had changed the conditions of my life from static
to dynamic; and that a Providence which is not always as ironical as
it pleases us to assert had sent Eleanor Faversham's graciousness to
mitigate the severity of the shock. I see how just was Lola's diagnosis.
"You're not quite alive even yet." I had been going about in a state of
suspended spiritual animation.

My recovery dated from that evening.

CHAPTER XIX

Agatha proved herself the good soul I had represented her to be.

"Certainly, dear," she said when I came the following morning with my
request. "You can have my boudoir all to yourselves."

"I am grateful," said I, "and for the first time I forgive you for
calling it by that abominable name."

It was an old quarrel between us. Every lover of language picks out
certain words in common use that he hates with an unreasoning ferocity.

"I'll change it's title if you like," she said meekly.

"If you do, my dear Agatha, my gratitude will be eternal."

"I remember a certain superior person, when Tom and I were engaged,
calling mother's boudoir--the only quiet place in the house--the
osculatorium."

She laughed with the air of a small bird who after long waiting had at
last got even with a hawk. But I did not even smile. For the only time
in our lives I considered that Agatha had committed a breach of good
taste. I said rather stiffly:

"It is not going to be a lovers' meeting, my dear."

She flushed. "It was silly of me. But why shouldn't it be a lovers'
meeting?" she added audaciously. "If nothing had happened, you two would
have been married by this time--"

"Not till June."

"Oh, yes, you would. I should have seen about that--a ridiculously long
engagement. Anyhow, it was only your illness that broke it off. You were
told you were going to die. You did the only honourable and sensible
thing--both of you. Now you're in splendid health again--"

"Stop, stop!" I interrupted. "You seem to be entirely oblivious of the
circumstances--"

"I'm oblivious of no circumstances. Neither is Eleanor. And if she still
cares for you she won't care twopence for the circumstances