“You forgot your spectacles this morning,” she said, sharply, to cover her embarrassment.
“I have no spectacles,” he said, dryly.
“What became of them?”
“They—er—disappeared during the barbarous episode of the other day.”
“You have no others?”
“None.”
“How can you work without them?”
“I find,” he said, “they are not essential. I was about to discard them in any event.” He paused. “It was clear to me,” he said, simply, “that a scholarly appearance was not necessary to me in my new walk of life.”
He said this so casually, with such good faith and simplicity, that Carmel saw how little he realized the absurdity of it. It demonstrated something of the straightforwardness of the man, something simple and childlike in him.... Carmel turned back to her desk with a warmer feeling of friendship toward Evan. There was something engaging, appealing about the artificially dried, cloistered, egoistic man.
“At any rate,” she said, presently, again aware of his eyes, “you seem perfectly able to stare at me, glasses or no glasses.”