"Not exactly," answered Jonathan, drily. But there was something else; and in his befogged mental state the comparison eluded him. “Been sitting on the doorstep almost for two hours. I must stay a minute longer, if only to see you smile. I want you to understand clearly that I was indebted to the man in many small ways. I'll dig it up. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. The pieces fell to the ground in a little white shower. But I'll tell you about him some other time.
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