himself to his position again as if we had quite settled the business.
After a considerable interval, while I botched away, he suddenly said:
"Did they make a great difference?"

"A great difference?"

"Those things she had put on."

"Oh the glasses--in her beauty? She looked queer of course, but it was
partly because one was unaccustomed. There are women who look charming
in nippers. What, at any rate, if she does look queer? She must be mad
not to accept that alternative."

"She _is_ mad," said Geoffrey Dawling.

"Mad to refuse you, I grant. Besides," I went on, "the pince-nez, which
was a large and peculiar one, was all awry: she had half pulled it off,
but it continued to stick, and she was crimson, she was angry."

"It must have been horrible!" my companion groaned.

"It _was_ horrible. But it's still more horrible to defy all warnings;
it's still more horrible to be landed in--" Without saying in what I
disgustedly shrugged my shoulders.

After a glance at me Dawling jerked round. "Then you do believe that she
may be?"

I hesitated. "The thing would be to make _her_ believe it. She only
needs a good scare."