And in the pause, while he was preparing to be gay, attractive, and in
fact his true self, she, calmly stirring China tea, shot a bolt which
made him see stars.

"It seems to me," she observed, "that we might go farther and fare
worse--both of us."

He genuinely did not catch the significance of it in the first instant,
and she saw that he did not.

"Oh," she proceeded, benevolently and reassuringly, "I mean it. I'm not
gallivanting about. I mean that if you want my opinion I fancy we could
make a match of it."

It was at this point that he saw stars. He also saw a faint and
delicious blush on her face, whose complexion was extraordinarily fresh
and tender.

She sipped China tea, holding each finger wide apart from the others.

He had forgotten the origin of their acquaintance, forgotten that each
of them was supposed to have a definite aim in view, forgotten that it
was with a purpose that they had exchanged photographs. It had not
occurred to him that marriage hung over him like a sword. He perceived
the sword now, heavy and sharp, and suspended by a thread of appalling
fragility. He dodged. He did not want to lose her, never to see her
again; but he dodged.

"I couldn't think----" he began, and stopped.