THE IVORY TOWER
contradiction which he next heard himself take, after the happiest fashion, the straightest way to rebut.
"I'm sure you'll be glad to know that I seem to be doing my uncle a tremendous lot of good. They tell me I'm really bringing him round"—and Graham smiled down at little blanched Mr. Gaw. "I don't despair at all of his getting much better."
It was on this that for the first time Mr. Gaw became articulate. "Better———?" he strangely quavered, and as if his very eyes questioned such conscious flippancy.
"Why yes—through cheering him up. He takes, I gather," Gray went on, "as much pleasure as I do———!" His assurance, however, had within the minute dropped a little—the effect of it might really reach, he apprehended, beyond his idea. The old man had been odd enough, but now of a sudden he looked sick, and that one couldn't desire.
"'Pleasure'———?" he was nevertheless able to echo; while it struck Gray that no sound so weak had ever been so sharp, or none so sharp ever so weak. "Pleasure in dying———?" Mr. Gaw asked in this flatness of doubt.
"But my dear sir," said Gray, his impulse to be jaunty still nevertheless holding out a little, "but, my dear sir, if, as it strikes me, he isn't dying———?"
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