Cool.  Here was a matrimonial hailstorm pouring in the South of England, and I was invited, by a man with fever in every fold of his coat, to come out from the North of England and take my share of the pelting.  I tried to put the point forcibly, just as I have put it here.  The Count deliberately lowered one of his horrid fingers, kept the other up, and went on—­rode over me, as it were, without even the common coach-manlike attention of crying “Hi!” before he knocked me down.

“Follow my thought once more, if you please,” he resumed.  “My first object you have heard.  My second object in coming to this house is to do what Miss Halcombe’s illness has prevented her from doing for herself.  My large experience is consulted on all difficult matters at Blackwater Park, and my friendly advice was requested on the interesting subject of your letter to Miss Halcombe.  I understood at once—­for my sympathies are your sympathies—­why you wished to see her here before you pledged yourself to inviting Lady Glyde.  You are most right, sir, in hesitating to receive the wife until you are quite certain that the husband will not exert his authority to reclaim her.  I agree to that.  I also agree that such delicate explanations as this difficulty involves are not explanations which can be properly disposed of by writing only.  My presence here (to my own great inconvenience) is the proof that I speak sincerely.  As for the explanations themselves, I—­Fosco—­I, who know Sir Percival much better than Miss Halcombe knows him, affirm to you, on my honour and my word, that he will not come near this house, or attempt to communicate with this house, while his wife is living in it.  His affairs are embarrassed.  Offer him his freedom by means of the absence of Lady Glyde.  I promise you he will take his freedom, and go back to the Continent at the earliest moment when he can get away.  Is this clear to you as crystal?  Yes, it is.  Have you questions to address to me?  Be it so, I am here to answer.  Ask, Mr. Fairlie—­oblige me by asking to your heart’s content.”

He had said so much already in spite of me, and he looked so dreadfully capable of saying a great deal more also in spite of me, that I declined his amiable invitation in pure self-defence.

“Many thanks,” I replied.  “I am sinking fast.  In my state of health I must take things for granted.  Allow me to do so on this occasion.  We quite understand each other.  Yes.  Much obliged, I am sure, for your kind interference.  If I ever get better, and ever have a second opportunity of improving our acquaintance—­”

He got up.  I thought he was going.  No.  More talk, more time for the development of infectious influences—­in my room, too—­ remember that, in my room!