“Light,” he said, in that delightfully confidential tone which is so soothing to an invalid, “is the first essential. Light stimulates, nourishes, preserves. You can no more do without it, Mr. Fairlie, than if you were a flower. Observe. Here, where you sit, I close the shutters to compose you. There, where you do not sit, I draw up the blind and let in the invigorating sun. Admit the light into your room if you cannot bear it on yourself. Light, sir, is the grand decree of Providence. You accept Providence with your own restrictions. Accept light on the same terms.”

I thought this very convincing and attentive. He had taken me in up to that point about the light, he had certainly taken me in.

“You see me confused,” he said, returning to his place⁠—“on my word of honour, Mr. Fairlie, you see me confused in your presence.”