Lucia shook her head.
"What's it like? Is it nice to look at?"
"No—yes—no."
"What? Haven't you made up your mind yet?"
"I haven't thought about it."
"Lucia, you're a perfect dog in the manger. You don't care a rap about the creature yourself, and yet you refuse to share it with your friend. I put it to you. Here we are, you and I, living in a howling wilderness untrodden by the foot of man, where even curates are at a premium—is it right, is it fair of you, to have a presentable man-thing in the house and to keep it to yourself?"
"Well—you see, it—it isn't so very presentable."
"Rubbish, I saw it. It looked perfectly all right."
"That," said Lucia, "is illusion. You haven't heard it speak."
"What's wrong with it?"