But looking at little Fyne seated in the room I understood that nothing would come of my contemplative aspirations; that in one way or another I should be let in for some form of severe exercise.

Walking, it would be, I feared, since, for me, that idea was inseparably associated with the visual impression of Fyne.

Where, why, how, a rapid striding rush could be brought in helpful relation to the good Fyne's present trouble and perplexity I could not imagine; except on the principle that senseless pedestrianism was Fyne's panacea for all the ills and evils bodily and spiritual of the universe.

It could be of no use for me to say or do anything.

It was bound to come.