Then a strange thing happened. As soon as we were alone he began to
exhibit signs of acute mental distress, and to my astonishment burst
out, 'Mrs. Warrington, there is something I wanted to--er--ask you.
You are a woman for whom I have a profound respect; though you are
inclined by character to be _un peu moqueuse_, you have, I feel, an
exceedingly tender heart.'

I felt uneasy. 'Yes, William, it is tender--but not for everybody,' I
added warningly. Really, it was going to be very awkward if he, in his
elephantine way, had conceived an infatuation for me. My conscience
was perfectly clear--I had not encouraged him in any way, but
nevertheless I did not wish to see him suffer from unrequited
affection. It would be so awkward in many ways. William, even in his
sane moods, has a dreadful habit of knocking things over. If the
abstraction of the lover descended upon him, it was going to have a
dire effect on our household goods.

'Because your heart is tender,' he pursued, 'you will be able to
realize the difficulty of my--er--you can better understand the
sufferings of others. Do you think an ill-placed affection can be
combated--that is, in time, be utterly stamped out?'

'I do, William,' I said firmly, 'but it must be stamped effectively,
you understand. No half measures, you know.'

'Yes, yes, I quite see that,' he said eagerly. 'Then do you think in
such a case it would help matters if a man--if one of the parties, I
mean--went right away. You know the adage, "Out of sight out of mind"?'

I pondered. It would, I knew, be a great denial to William if he was