“And equally I suppose the handsome husbands think their plain wives beautiful.”
They laughed together, but Muriel raised a warning finger. “We are getting off the point,” she said. “I want to know more about your Betty. Was she dark?”
“Darkish—yes.”
“And her eyes; were they dark, too?”
“I think so; they were bright.”
“What, aren’t you sure? I don’t think much of you as a lover.”
“But I can never remember the color of people’s eyes,” he pleaded. “I can’t remember the color of my mother’s or my aunt’s, or——”
“Quick, shut your eyes; what’s the color of my eyes?”
“Blue,” Roland hazarded.
“Wrong. They’re green. Cat’s eyes. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I shall write and tell your Betty about it.”