I suspect he has a bit of vanity. It was the same Bios whose nature and drift and ways and methods and aspects engaged them all. “I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. " CHAPTER XVIII. The plank hung over his head. Our quarrel's quite over. He forces an engagement upon her. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. He opened the drawer of the writing table. " "Are they good?" "He can write; but he hasn't found anything real to write about.
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