"Upon my honour it shan't be trifled with!" he roundly declared; and he adjusted 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 murmured.
"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.
