He tried hard to find some clue to the cause of his extraordinary eye affliction, but arrived at nothing definite. There was a rustling at his side and he turned to find that the blonde had rejoined him. He closed his eyes again as the net brassiere, for a second time, began to appear from beneath the fading fabric of her dress.
"Here are the glasses," the blonde said coldly. "I put tape on the inside of the lenses." Marc held out his hand and she gave them to him. "Your eyes certainly must be sensitive."
"You'll never know," Marc said gloomily and slipped the glasses on.
"Can you see anything at all?" the blonde asked inquisitively.
"Not a thing," Marc said. "It's a great relief."
"Mister," the blonde said flatly, "I guess I just don't understand you."
There was the sound of stealthy approach from the direction of the aisle, and Marc quickly lowered the glasses to observe Toffee approaching on tip-toe. She was carrying a bottle of champagne under each arm and she looked enormously pleased.
"I think they've gone," she said. Then, seeing the blonde, suspicion flickered in her eyes. "Leave it to you; all I have to do is turn my back and you're snuggled up with some big blonde."
"I'm not snuggled up," Marc said. "I've been making a purchase."