William looked at me in questioning despair, and in that moment my heart softened towards him. In a flash I understood. He had so often heard me urge Henry to wear white spats and light-coloured gloves, though all my coercion and entreaty had been in vain. William had thought by donning these things—which on him would have a grotesque effect—he would win my favour. Poor fellow! I was quite touched by his devotion, his absolutely hopeless passion.
'These things wouldn't be in keeping with the rest of you,' I said gently; 'they require to be accompanied by all the—er—appurtenances of the smart man.'
'Is—is—a beard an appurtenance?' he asked in a hollow voice.
'Not an appurtenance, William—perhaps a detriment would be the better word.'
He emitted a sound that was half a groan. 'I knew it,' he said. 'Well, what must be, must be, I suppose.'
'You're getting profound,' snorted Henry, who apparently objected to William in his present mood; and he proceeded to distract his attention by touching on a recent stirring debate in the House. William allowed Henry to talk on unchecked—your man who indulges in argument abhors that—and left unusually early for him.
'That fellow is undoubtedly going off his head,' commented Henry after his departure. 'I wonder what's wrong with him.'
I smiled rather sadly, and mentally decided that I must cure William of his infatuation for me without delay.