What it portended I did not realise. I was conscious of nothing but a spiritual exhilaration comparable only with the physical exhilaration I experienced in the garden at Algiers when my bodily health had been finally established. As the body then felt the need of expressing itself in violent action--in leaping and running (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. I know I wouldn't.” And to cut off my reply she clapped the receiver of the telephone to her ear and called up Eleanor, with whom she proceeded to arrange a date for the interview. Presently she screwed her head round.