"Being what?" she interrupted me.

"A physiognomist," I repeated raising my voice a little. "A

physiognomist, Mrs. Fyne. And on the principles of that science a

pointed little chin is a sufficient ground for interference. You want to

interfere--do you not?"

Her eyes grew distinctly bigger. She had never been bantered before in

her life. The late subtle poet's method of making himself unpleasant was

merely savage and abusive. Fyne had been always solemnly subservient.

What other men she knew I cannot tell but I assume they must have been

gentlemanly creatures. The girl-friends sat at her feet. How could she

recognize my intention. She didn't know what to make of my tone.

"Are you serious in what you say?" she asked slowly. And it was

touching. It was as if a very young, confiding girl had spoken. I felt

myself relenting.

"No. I am not, Mrs. Fyne," I said. "I didn't know I was expected to be

serious as well as sagacious. No. That science is farcical and

therefore I am not serious. It's true that most sciences are farcical

except those which teach us how to put things together."

"The question is how to keep these two people apart," she struck in. She

had recovered. I admired the quickness of women's wit. Mental agility

is a rare perfection. And aren't they agile! Aren't they--just! And

tenacious! When they once get hold you may uproot the tree but you won't

shake them off the branch. In fact the more you shake . . . But only

look at the charm of contradictory perfections! No wonder men give

in--generally. I won't say I was actually charmed by Mrs. Fyne. I was

not delighted with her. What affected me was not what she displayed but

something which she could not conceal. And that was emotion--nothing

less. The form of her declaration was dry, almost peremptory--but not

its tone. Her voice faltered just the least bit, she smiled faintly; and

as we were looking straight at each other I observed that her eyes were

glistening in a peculiar manner. She was distressed. And indeed that

Mrs. Fyne should have appealed to me at all was in itself the evidence of

her profound distress. "By Jove she's desperate too," I thought. This

discovery was followed by a movement of instinctive shrinking from this

unreasonable and unmasculine affair. They were all alike, with their

supreme interest aroused only by fighting with each other about some man:

a lover, a son, a brother.

"But do you think there's time yet to do anything?" I asked.




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