"Methinks, Sir Monk—"
"There! That's more like it. By my halidom, that's the style!"
"Odds bodkins, you don't tell me!" There was a second ripple of laughter from behind the mask. It was rare music.
"I could fall in love with you!"
"There once was a Frenchman who said that as nothing is impossible, let us believe in the absurd. I might be old enough to be your grandmother,"—lightly.
"Perish the thought!"
"Perish it, indeed!"
"The mask is the thing!" I cried enthusiastically. "You can make love to another man's wife—"
"Or to your own, and nobody is the wiser,"—cynically.
"We are getting on."