82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. She might be able to go on with biology, possibly even work upon the same questions that he dealt with. ’ The lady looked unexpectedly smug.
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