only rejoined that it struck me she was playing a
particular game; at which he went on as if he hadn't heard me, suddenly
haunted with a fear, lost in the dark possibility I had opened up: "Do
you mean there's a danger of anything very bad?" "My dear fellow, you
must ask her oculist." "Who in the world _is_ her oculist?" "I haven't a
conception. But we mustn't get too excited. My impression would be
that she has only to observe a few ordinary rules, to exercise a little
common sense."

Dawling jumped at this. "I see--to stick to the pince-nez."

"To follow to the letter her oculist's prescription, whatever it is
and at whatever cost to her prettiness. It's not a thing to be trifled
with."

"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.

After a glance at me Dawling jerked round. "Then you do believe that she
may be?"

I hesitated. "The thing would be to make _her_ believe it. She only
needs a good scare."

"But if that fellow is shocked at the precautions she does take?"

"Oh, who knows?" I rejoined with small sincerity. "I don't suppose
Iffield is absolutely a brute."

"I would take her with leather blinders, like a shying mare!" cried
Geoffrey Dawling.

I had an impression that Iffield wouldn't, but I didn't communicate it,
for I wanted to pacify my friend, whom I had discomposed too much for
the purposes of my sitting. I recollect that I did some good work that
morning, but it also comes back to me that before we separa