ct
him, not seldom, without bringing to his mind any definite image. And
this was the worst sort. When an image came, his mind felt eased.

"A sort of one."

"Can you tell when it came on?" All this was nettle-grasping. She was
getting used to it. "Was it before or after I said that about your
hair?"

"After. No, before. Perhaps just about then." Mrs. Nightingale decided
that she would not tempt Providence any further. Self-discipline was
good, but not carried to danger-point.

"Now sit down and be quiet," she said. "We won't talk any more about
unpleasant things. Only the worst of it is," she added, smiling,
"that one's topics--yours and mine, I mean--are so limited by the
conditions. I should ask any other man who had been about the world,
as you _must_ have done, all sorts of questions about all sorts of
places--where he had been, whom he had seen. You can't answer
questions, though I hope you will some day...."

She paused, and he saw the reason. "You see," said he, with a
good-humoured laugh, "one gets back directly to the unpleasant
subject, whether one will or no. But if I could remember all about
my precious self, I might not court catechism about it...."

"_I_ should not about mine." This was said in a low tone, with a
silent look on the unraised eyes that was almost an invitation not to
hear, and her lips hardly moved to say it, either. He missed it for
the moment, but finished his speech with the thought in his mind.

"Still, it's an ill-wind that blows nobody good. See what a clear
conscience I have! But what was that _you_ said?"

She dropped the fire-screen and raised her eyes--fine eyes they were,
which we might have likened to those of Juno had the eyes of oxen been
blue--turning them full on him. "When?" said she.

"Just this minute. I ought to have apologized for interrupting you."

"I said I should not court catechism about myself. I should not."
Fenwick felt he could not assign this speech its proper place in the
dialogue without thinking. He thought gravely, looking to all seeming
into the fire for enlightenment; then turned round and spoke.

"Surely that is true, in a sense, of all mankind--mankind and
womankind. Nobody wants to be seen through. But one's past would need
to be a very shaky one to make one wish for an oblivion like mine to
extinguish it."

"I should not dislike it. I have now all that I wish to keep out of
the past. I have Sally. There is nothing I could not afford to