“They are usually quite easy to account for,” replied his daughter coldly.  “You must have frightened the child some time.”

“Tut, tut, my dear.  How could an old fogey like myself frighten anyone?”

“I don’t know.  But I should like to.”

Father and daughter looked at each other for a moment.  And again the captive on the sofa found himself disliking intensely the glance of the old man’s pale blue eyes.  He was glad to see that they fell before the grey eyes of the girl.

“Well, well!” murmured Dr. Farr vaguely, looking away.  “It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter.  Tut, tut, a trifle!”

“I don’t think so,” said she.  And abruptly she went out after the child.

“Fanciful, very fanciful,” murmured the old man, looking after her.  “And stubborn, very stubborn.  A bad fault in one so young.  But,” beaming benevolently upon his guest, “we must not trouble you with our small domestic discords.  You are much better, I see, much better.  That is good.”

“Getting along very nicely, thanks,” said Spence.  “I was able to change position this morning without assistance.”

“Only that?” The doctor’s disappointment was patent.  “Come, we should progress better than that.  If you will allow me to prescribe--”

“Thank you—­no.  I feel quite satisfied with the treatment prescribed by old Bones—­I mean by my friend, Dr. Rogers.  He understands the case thoroughly.  One must be patient.”

“Quite so, quite so.”  The curiously blurred face of the doctor seemed for a moment to take on sharper lines.  Spence had observed it do this before under stress of feeling.  But as the exact feeling which caused the change was usually obscure, it seemed safest to ignore it altogether.  He was growing quite expert at ignoring things.  For, quite contrary to the usual trend of his character, he was reacting to the urge of a growing desire to stay where he wasn’t wanted.  He didn’t reason about it.  He did not even admit it.  But it moved in his mind.

“I’m not fretting at all about being tied up here,” he went on cheerfully.  “I find the air quite stimulating.  I believe I could work here.  In fact, I have some notes with me which I may elaborate.  I fancy that, as you said in your letters, Miss Farr will prove a most capable secretary.  I am going to ask her to help me.”

“Are you indeed?” The doctor’s tone was polite but absent.

“You do not object, I hope?”

“Object—­why should I object?  But Desire is busy, very busy.  I doubt if her duties will spare her.  I doubt it very much.”

“Naturally, I should wish to offer her ample remuneration.”

Again the loose lines of the strange old face seemed to sharpen.  There was a growing eagerness in the pale eyes . . . but it died.

“Even in that case,” said Dr. Farr regretfully, “I fear it will be impossible.”

Spence pressed this particular point no further.  He had found out what he wanted to know, namely, that his host’s desire to see the last of him was stronger even than his desire for money.  His own desire to see more of his host strengthened in proportion.