torted. If he didn't take care he should howl; so he more or less successfully took care—yet with his host vividly watching him while he shook the danger temporarily off. "I don't mind—though it's rather that; my having felt this morning, after three dismal dumb bad days, that one's friends perhaps would be thinking of one. All I'm conscious of now—I give you my word—is that I'd like to see him."
"You'd like to see him?"
"Oh, I don't say," Mark ruefully smiled, "that I should like him to see me—!"
Newton Winch, from where he stood—and they were together now, on the great hearth-rug that was a triumph of modern orientalism—put out one of the noted fine hands and, with an expressive headshake, laid it on his shoulder. "Don't wish him that, Monteith—don't wish him that!"
"Well, but"—and Mark raised his eyebrows still higher—"he'd see I bear up pretty well!"
"God forbid he should see, my dear fellow!" Newton cried as for the pang of it.
Mark had for his idea, at any rate, the oddest sense of an exaltation that grew by this use of frankness. "I'd go to him. Hanged if I wouldn't—anywhere!"
His companion's hand still rested on him. "You'd go to him?"
Mark stood up to it—though trying to sink solemnity as pretentious. "I'd go like a shot." And then he added: "And it's probably what—when we've turned round—I shall do."
