The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. “I’ll try to stop by. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird. She loves you too well for that. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands.
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