He was interested besides, as he told a ruffled conscience.

He fell upon the study of his old hero determinedly.
The pain of a memory waking under pillows, unable to do more than strain for breath, distracted his attention.

There was a memory: that was all he knew.

Or else he would have lashed himself for hanging on the beautiful eyes of a woman.

To be seeing and hearing his old hero was wonder enough.
Recollections of Lady Charlotte's plain hints regarding the lady present resolved to the gross retort, that her eyes were beautiful.