"They can't see, though."
"No. Born blind. That's why they hear so well. And they never forget. These four"—with a sweep of my cigarette—"have long memories of things, some sweet, some stern, some full of tears, and some again so mirthful that they split their panelled sides with merriment whenever they call them to mind."
"And here's another to make them smile."
"Smile? Yes. Wise, whimsical, fatherly smiles, especially wise. They think we're lovers, remember."
"I forgot. Well, the sooner they find out their mis—"
"Hush!" said I. "Walls love lovers. Have pity and don't undeceive them. It'd break the poor old fellows' hearts. That one's looking rather black already.
"She laughed in spite of herself. Then:
"But they haven't got any hearts to break."
"Of course they have. The best in the world, too. Hearts of oak. Now you must make up for it. Come along." I altered my tone. "Chaste and beautiful one, dost thou realize that at this rate we shall reach Gretna next Tuesday week?"
"So soon, Jack?"—languishingly.