‘I do: though mere looking has less to do with it than mental attentiveness—allowing your thoughts to flow out in her direction—to comprehend her image.’
‘But it would be considered very impolite not to look at the woman or comprehend her image?’
‘It would, and is. I am considered the most impolite officer in the service. I have been nicknamed the man with the averted eyes—the man with the detestable habit—the man who greets you with his shoulder, and so on. Ninety-and-nine fair women at the present moment hate me like poison and death for having persistently refused to plumb the depths of their offered eyes.’
‘How can you do it, who are by nature courteous?’
‘I cannot always—I break down sometimes. But, upon the whole, recollection holds me to it: dread of a lapse. Nothing is so potent as fear well maintained.’
De Stancy narrated these details in a grave meditative tone with his eyes on the wall, as if he were scarcely conscious of a listener.
‘But haven’t you reckless moments, captain?—when you have taken a little more wine than usual, for instance?’
‘I don’t take wine.’
‘O, you are a teetotaller?’
‘Not a pledged one—but I don’t touch alcohol unless I get wet, or anything of that sort.’