"Very nasty ones, I should think! Deadly nightshade! That sort of thing!"
"Poor dear! I gave her light in a vulgar age. She can't help it," said Mrs. Mansfield to Max Elliot. "We are her refined seniors. But sheer weight of years has little influence. Never mind. Go on. You and I at least can understand."
As she spoke she laid her hand, on which shone several curious rings, over Charmian's, and she kept it there while Max Elliot gave some account of Claude Heath.
"He's not particularly handsome in features. He's quite conventional in dress. His instinct would probably be to use the shell as a close hiding-place for anything strange, unusual that it contains. He crops his hair, and, I should think, wets it two or three times a day for fear people should see that it has a natural wave in it. His neckties are the most humdrum that can be discovered in the shops."
"Does he dislike his appearance?" asked Charmian.
"I daresay. The worst of it is that he has eyes that give the whole thing away to a Mrs. Mansfield."
"What, and not to me?" said Charmian, in an injured note.
"She's fairly sharp, poor dear!" observed Mrs. Mansfield, in a rescuing voice. "You mustn't be too hard on her."
Max Elliot smiled.
"And a Charmian Mansfield."