He feebly put it to his eye, and looked at Jo in a strange, questioning, uncomprehending way.
"I beg--your pardon," he said haltingly, "have I ever--been intro--" Suddenly his eyes closed, a frown gathered on his forehead.

After a minute his eyes opened again, and he gazed with painful, pathetic seriousness at Jo.

This grew to a kind of childish terror; then slowly, as a shadow passes, the perplexity, anxiety and terror cleared away, and left his forehead calm, his eyes unvexed and peaceful.

The monocle dropped, and he did not heed it.

At length he said wearily, and with an incredibly simple dependence: "I am thirsty now." Jo lifted a wooden bowl to his lips, and he drank, drank, drank to repletion.