Leek had a nose like his own.

And she pulled out of her handbag a photograph, not of Leek, but of
Priam Farll. It was an unmounted print of a negative which he and Leek
had taken together for the purposes of a pose in a picture, and it had
decidedly a distinguished appearance. But why should Leek dispatch
photographs of his master to strange ladies introduced through a
matrimonial agency? Priam Farll could not imagine--unless it was from
sheer unscrupulous, careless bounce.

She gazed at the portrait with obvious joy.

"Now, candidly, don't _you_ think it's very, very good?" she demanded.

"I suppose it is," he agreed. He would probably have given two hundred
pounds for the courage to explain to her in a few well-chosen words that
there had been a vast mistake, a huge impulsive indiscretion. But two
hundred thousand pounds would not have bought that courage.

"I love it," she ejaculated fervently--with heat, and yet so nicely! And
she returned the photograph to her little bag.

She lowered her voice.

"You haven't told me whether you were ever married. I've been waiting
for that."

He blushed. She was disconcertingly personal.

"No," he said.