in his own clothes, writing busily, with his back toward me. Perhaps he thought it was only an attendant with food, or perhaps he didn't even hear the interruption. I could hear his pen running busily. I might have known you never would get any heroics out of that man! Trust him to make the best of it!
"Lemon sole and a glass of sherry, please, James," said the Professor over his shoulder, and the warder, who evidently had joked with him before, broke into a cackle of laughter.
"A lady to see yer Lordship," he said.
The Professor turned round. His face went quite white. For the first time in my experience of him he seemed to be at a loss for speech.
"Miss—Miss McGill," he stammered. "You are the good Samaritan. I'm doing the John Bunyan act, see? Writing in prison. I've really started my book at last. And I find the fellows here know nothing whatever about literature. There isn't even a library in the place."
For the life of me, I couldn't utter the tenderness in my heart with that gorilla of a jailer standing behind us.
