"When 'we' have turned round?"
"Well"—he was a trifle disconcerted at the tone—"I say that because you'll have helped me."
" Oh, I do nothing but want to help you!" Winch replied—which made it right again; especially as our friend still felt himself reassuringly and sustainingly grasped. But Winch went on: "You would go to him—in kindness?"
"Well—to understand."
"To understand how he could swindle you?"
"Well," Mark kept on, "to try and make out with him how, after such things—!" But he stopped; he couldn't name them.
It was as if his companion knew. "Such things as you've done for him, of course—such services as you've rendered him."
"Ah, from far back. If I could tell you," our friend vainly wailed—"if I could tell you!"
Newton Winch patted his shoulder. "Tell me—tell me!"
"The sort of relation, I mean; ever so many things of a kind—!" Again, however, he pulled up; he felt the tremor of his voice.
"Tell me, tell me," Winch repeated with the same movement.
The tone in it now made their eyes meet again, and with this presentation of the altered face Mark measured as not before, for some reason, the extent of the recent ravage. "You must have been ill indeed."
"Pretty bad. But I'm better. And you do me
