Conversation was rather easier coming back, perhaps because I felt in higher spirits and could play my absurd part with more gusto. Still, the girl remained a little disquieting. She was now in a very smiling and friendly mood, and a man who blinked through gold rimmed glasses and giggled through a dyed beard ought to have felt exceedingly flattered. But now I was saying to myself that for a girl of fastidious taste she was really too nice to such a fellow. And then I remembered that O'Brien had a black beard too, and the thought struck me,
"Can she have such pleasant recollections of black beards that I am providing her with reminiscent romance?"
I think it was just as this idea occurred to me that she roused me very sharply from my meditations.
"I suppose you have heard of the mysterious man who appeared here last summer?" she enquired.
It took Mr. Hobhouse all this time to adjust himself to this question, but I think he managed it not unsuccessfully.
"The—ah? Oh, yes, oh, yes. The doctor told me the story. Most mysterious—most mysterious! What do you make of it yourself, Miss Rendall?"
"Did the doctor tell you that I once walked with him along this very shore? It was at night too, and he was armed with a pistol!"
A single stare of astonishment was fortunately able to cover two emotions. My own was expressed in the thought, "What the devil is she driving at now?" Mr. Hobhouse's was expressed otherwise.
"You don't say so! God bless me; what a risk to run! He didn't—er—shoot at you, I hope?"
"No," she said, "he seemed pretty harmless."