"As a matter of fact," she said lightly, "I suppose that you loathe
all food?"
"Loathe it," he replied. He was still looking at her, as if in
enjoyment of the Englishness and freshness of which he had spoken.
"Simply loathe it. All Joseph's tact and patience are required to
make me eat even eleven meals in the day. He would like thirteen."
At this moment Maurice came in--Maurice--hearty, eager, full of
life. He blustered in almost as Joseph had prophesied, kicking the
furniture, throwing his own vitality into the atmosphere. Jocelyn
knew that he liked Jack Meredith--and she knew more. She knew,
namely, that Maurice Gordon was a different man when Jack Meredith
was in Loango. From Meredith's presence he seemed to gather a sense
of security and comfort even as she did--a sense which in herself
she understood (for women analyse love), but which in her brother
puzzled her.
"Well, old chap," said Maurice, "glad to see you. I AM glad to see
you. Thank Heaven you were bowled over by that confounded malaria,
for otherwise we should have missed you."
"That is one way of looking at it," answered Meredith. But he did
not go so far as to say that it was a way which had not previously
suggested itself to him.
"Of course it is. The best way, I take it. Well--how do you feel?
Come, you don't look so bad.
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