"When I saw her, she was as white as a sheet. Even her lips were bloodless. You see, she was frightened out of her wits."
"Well, then, her hair—her hair, man! Was that dark or light?"
"I didn't see it."
"Didn't see it?"
"No. You see it was covered by her hood. Think of that driving sleet. She had to cover herself up as much as she could from the terrible pelting of the storm."
"Well, then, I'll ask only one question more," said Jack, dryly. "I hope you'll be able to answer it. A great deal depends upon it. In fact, upon a true answer to this question the whole thing rests. Gather up all your faculties now, old chap, and try to answer me correctly. No shirking now—no humbug, for I won't stand it. On your life, Macrorie, and, by all your future hopes, answer me this—was your friend—a woman or a man?"
At the beginning of this solemn question, I had roused myself and sat upright, but at its close I flung myself down in disgust.
"Well," said Jack, "why don't you answer?"
"Jack," said I, severely, "I'm not in the humor for chaff."
"Chaff! my dear fellow, I only want to get a basis of action—a base of operations. Are you sure your friend was a woman? I'm in earnest—really."