He was lying back in his chair, his mighty shaven jowl
a ghastly white, his fierce imperious eyebrows drooping limp over his
fishlike eyes, his splendid figure shrunk and contracted. He was trying
with a shaken hand to pour out wine. The decanter clattered against the
glass and the wine spilled on the cloth.
"I'm afraid you find the room too warm. Shall we go into the library?"
He rose hastily and followed me like a lamb.
He recovered himself once we got into the hall, and affably rejected all
my proffers of brandy and soda--medical advice--everything else my limited
experience could suggest. He only demanded his carriage "directly" and
that Miss Panton should be summoned forthwith.
I made the best use I could of the time left me.
"I'm uncommonly sorry you do not feel equal to staying a little longer, my
lord. I counted on showing you my few trifles of precious stones, the
salvage from the wreck of my possessions. Nothing in comparison with your
own collection."
The bishop clasped his hand over his heart. His breath came short and
quick.
"A return of that dizziness," he explained with a faint smile. "You are
thinking of the Valdez sapphire, are you not? Some day," he went on with
forced composure, "I may have the pleasure of showing it to you. It is at
my banker's just now."
Miss Panton's steps were heard in the hall.
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