" Sir Rowland caught at a chair for support, and passed his hand across his brow, on which the damp had gathered thickly. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. I'm sure he'll do his best to content you.
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