“O Lord! Don’t do that!” he implored. “I didn’t mean—I’m a bear—a pig—a—a—a scarab—I’m anything you choose. Only don’t do that!”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Of course you’re not. That’s fine! As for your secrets, I dare say I wouldn’t know you again if I saw you.”
“Oh, wouldn’t you?” she cried in quite another tone.
“Quite likely not. These glasses, you see. They make things look quite queer.”
“Or if you heard me?” she challenged.
“Ah, well, that’s different. But I forget quite easily—even things like voices.”
She leaned forward, her hands in her lap, her eyes upon the goggled face before her.
“Then take them off.”
“What? My glasses?”