"Yes, she is, Fritz, you know she is. But I mean ever so much worse; with
a purple complexion, perhaps, like Mrs. Armington, whose husband insisted
on a judicial separation; or a broken nose, or something wrong with my
mouth--"

"What wrong?"

"Oh, dear, anything! What /l'homme qui vir/ had--or a frightful scar
across my cheek. Could you love me as you do now? I should be the same
woman, remember."

"Then it'd be all the same to me, I s'pose. Let's turn in."

He got up, went over to the hearth, on which a small wood fire was
burning, straddled his legs, bent his knees and straightened them several
times, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers, which were
rather tight and horsey and defined his immense limbs. An expression of
profound self-satisfaction illumined his face as he looked at his wife,
giving it a slightly leery expression, as of a shrewd rustic. His large
blunt features seemed to broaden, his big brown eyes twinkled, and his
lips, which were thick and very red and had a cleft down their middle,
parted under his short bronze moustache, exposing two level rows of
square white teeth.

"It's jolly difficult to imagine you an ugly woman," he said, with a deep
chuckle.

"I do wish you'd keep your legs still," said Lady Holme. "What earthly
pleasure can it give you to go on like that? Would you love me as you do