staying with him when he went to Brixham to pay calls, and found you alone?"
"And told you?"
"How could I know otherwise?" he asked.
"Oh, do be indiscreet, Mr. Lindsay," she said, "and tell me what he said when he came back. It's about me, you know; all women want to know what others say of them."
Lucia looked at him a moment, mischief dancing in her eyes, which found something that answered it. How boyish he looked; how young she felt! That was the Skimpole effect.
"Did he do me justice?" she asked. "Do give me handles against him; I never can get any of my own finding. He is always up to the mark. But do tell me he said something unappreciative."
No young man dislikes being treated intimately by a woman, even if he is just engaged to another. Charlie did not dislike it in the least.
"No, he was tremendously appreciative," he said. "I got rather bored with you, in fact. But I thought you probably wore spectacles."
Lucia did not say "Why?" She thought it over for a moment, then gave a great burst of laughter.
"Oh, I see perfectly," she said. "I quite understand your thinking that. I must really wear them whenever I meet you; it was so right of you to think that. There was Schubert's 'Unfinished' on the piano, he told you that?"
"He did."
"And Omar Khayyàm on the sofa?"
"So he told me."
"And—and what vulgar people would call antimacassars on the sofa?"
Charlie shook his head.
"No, he never told me that," he said.
"That was dear of him. Because they were there. Do go on. I quite see about the spectacles. What else did you think? Oh, be honest; there is nothing so little likely to be found out. Tell me with detail what you thought I should be like."
Charlie gave a great guffaw of laughter.
"Remember I am not insulting you," he said. "I'm only damning myself. I thought you would have spectacles, as I said. I thought you would have large kind hands. I thought you would have an intellectual expression."
