'Oh, I always respected you, William,' I put in hastily, 'And don't quote Dr. Johnson now. It doesn't go with your tie.'
He groaned. 'Must I change my expressions, my thoughts, my very mode of living to match the garments I wear?'
'I'm afraid you must. But tell me,' I added, looking earnestly into his face, 'doesn't this outward change affect you inwardly as well—just a little? You must be feeling more—what shall I say—sprightly than before?'
He looked down at me as if puzzled, and then said in a half shame-faced way, 'Mrs. Warrington, there is some truth in that remark of yours. Some subtle, inexplicable change that I cannot account for has come over me. Even as Samson's strength lay in his hair, do you think my reason lay in my beard?'
'It depends on the quality of the reason. Describe your present symptoms to me, William.'
He avoided my gaze. 'It is quite impossible to analyse them, I assure you.'
'Let me help. Look at me steadily,' I said impressively. 'Now try, as far as possible, to describe me.'
There was a pause. 'I'm afraid you'll be offended, Madame,' he began.
'No, I won't. Go on,' I commanded.
'Well, as a matter of fact, although I have known you for over nine years, it has never before occurred to me to notice that you are an—an—exceedingly pretty woman—but I am offending you?'