eyes came right
just at that very moment. Because, when we met him with his sister in
London, he was as blind as a bat. And that was at Whitsuntide. You
remember?--when his sister begged we wouldn't speak to him about Gwen.
_We_ thought it was the Hapsburg."

"Yes--they were just going back to Pensham after a month in London. She
just missed them by a few hours. There was not a word of his being any
better then."

"Not a word. Quite the other way. And then in a fortnight, or less, he
saw as well as he had ever seen in his life. I don't see any use in
putting it down to previous exaggeration, because a man can't see less
than nothing, and that's exactly what he did see. Nothing! He told me so
himself. Said he couldn't see me, and rather hoped he never should.
Because he had formed a satisfactory image of me in his mind, and didn't
want it disturbed by reality."

"He had that curious paradoxical way of talking. I always ascribed the
odd things he said to that, more than to any lack of good taste."

"To what?"

"My dear, my meaning is perfectly obvious, so you needn't pretend you
don't understand it. I am referring to his very marked individuality,
which shows itself in speech, and which no person with any discernment
could for one moment suppose to imply defective taste or feeling. He did
say odd things, and he does say odd things."

"I can't see anything particularly odd in what he said about me. If a
fillah forms a good opinion of another fillah whom he's never seen,
obviously the less he sees of him the better. Let well alone, don't you
know!"

"That is because you are as paradoxical as he is. All men are. But you
might be sensible for once, and talk reasonably."

"Well, then--suppose we do, my dear!" said the gentleman,
conciliatorily. "Let me see--what was I going to say just now--at the
Koodoo? Awfully sensible thing, only something put it out of my head."

"You must recollect it for yourself," said the lady, with some severity.
"_I_ certainly cannot help you."

The gentleman never seemed to resent what was apparently the habitual
manner of his lady wife. He walked on beside her, puffing contentedly,
and apparently recollecting abortively; until, to stimulate his memory,
she said rather crisply:--"Well?" He then resumed:--"Not so sensible as
I thought it was, but somethin' in it for all that! Don't you know,
sometimes, when you don't speak on the nail, sometimes, you lose your
chance, and then you can'