Miss Burnett's method of conversation was to say something about the
weather and then to lapse into a surprised and distressed stare. If her
visitor made some statement she crowned it with, "Well, now, that was just
was I was going to say."

Her nose, when she talked, twinkled at the nostrils apprehensively, and
many of her visitors found this fascinating, so that they suddenly, with
hot confusion, realised that they too had been staring in a most offensive
manner. Joan had not been out in the world long enough to enable her to
save a difficult situation by brilliant talk, and she very quickly found
herself staring at Miss Burnett's nose and longing to say something about
it, as, for instance, "What a stronge nose you've got, Miss Burnett--see
how it twitches!" or, "If you'll allow me, Miss Burnett, I'd just like to
study your nose for a minute." When she realised this horrible desire in
herself she blushed crimson and gazed about the untidy and entangled
drawing-room in real desperation. She could see nothing in the room that
was likely to save her. She was about to rise and depart, although she had
only been there five minutes, when Mr. Morris came in.

Joan realised at once that this man was quite different from any one whom
she had ever known. He was a stranger to her Polchester world in body,
soul and spirit, as though, a foreigner from some far-distant country, he
had been shipwrecked and cast upon an inhospitable shore. So strangely did
she feel this that she was quite surprised when he did not speak with a
foreign accent. "Oh, he must be a poet!" was her second thought about Mr.
Morris, not because he dressed oddly or had long hair. She could not tell
whence the impression came, unless it were in his strange, bewildered,
lost blue eyes. Lost, bewildered--yes, that was what he was! With every
movement of his slim, straight body, the impulse with which he brushed
back his untidy fair hair from his forehead, he seemed like a man only