"I see nothing to laugh at," I said, sharply.
His beautiful blue eyes rested on me with a look of innocent surprise.
"Nothing to laugh at," he repeated, "in such an exhibition of human folly as you have just described?" His expression suddenly changed his face darkened and hardened very strangely. "Stop!" he cried, before I could answer him. "There can be only one reason for you're taking it as seriously as you do. Mrs. Valeria! you are fond of your husband."
"Fond of him isn't strong enough to express it," I retorted. "I love him with my whole heart."
Miserrimus Dexter stroked his magnificent beard, and contemplatively repeated my words. "You love him with your whole heart? Do you know why?"
"Because I can't help it," I answered, doggedly.
He smiled satirically, and went on with his embroidery. "Curious!" he said to himself; "Eustace's first wife loved him too. There are some men whom the women all like, and there are other men whom the women never care for. Without the least reason for it in either case. The one man is just as good as the other; just as handsome, as agreeable, as honorable, and as high in rank as the other. And yet for Number One they will go through fire and water, and for Number Two they won't so much as turn their heads to look at him. Why? They don't know themselves--as Mrs. Valeria has just said! Is there a physical reason for it? Is there some potent magnetic emanation from Number One which Number Two doesn't possess? I must investigate this when I have the time, and when I find myself in the humor." Having so far settled the question to his own entire satisfaction, he looked up at me again. "I am still in the dark about you and your motives," he said. "I am still as far as ever from understanding what your interest is in investigating that hideous tragedy at Gleninch. Clever Mrs. Valeria, please take me by the hand, and lead me into the light. You're not offended with me are you? Make it up; and I will give you this pretty piece of embroidery when I have done it. I am only a poor, solitary, deformed wretch, with a quaint turn of mind; I mean no harm. Forgive me! indulge me! enlighten me!"
He resumed his childish ways; he recover, his innocent smile, with the odd little puckers and wrinkles accompanying it at the corners of his eyes. I began to doubt whether I might not have been unreasonably hard on him. I penitently resolved to be more considerate toward his infirmities of mind and body during the remainder of my visit.