"Being what?" she interrupted me.
"A physiognomist," I repeated raising my voice a little. "A
physiognomist, Mrs. Fyne. And on the principles of that science a
pointed little chin is a sufficient ground for interference. You want to
interfere--do you not?"
Her eyes grew distinctly bigger. She had never been bantered before in
her life. The late subtle poet's method of making himself unpleasant was
merely savage and abusive. Fyne had been always solemnly subservient.
What other men she knew I cannot tell but I assume they must have been
gentlemanly creatures. The girl-friends sat at her feet. How could she
recognize my intention. She didn't know what to make of my tone.
"Are you serious in what you say?" she asked slowly. And it was
touching. It was as if a very young, confiding girl had spoken. I felt
myself relenting.
"No. I am not, Mrs. Fyne," I said. "I didn't know I was expected to be
serious as well as sagacious. No. That science is farcical and
therefore I am not serious. It's true that most sciences are farcical
except those which teach us how to put things together."
"The question is how to keep these two people apart," she struck in. She
had recovered. I admired the quickness of women's wit. Mental agility
is a rare perfection. And aren't they agile! Aren't they--just! And
tenacious! When they once get hold you may uproot the tree but you won't
shake them off the branch. In fact the more you shake . . . But only
look at the charm of contradictory perfections! No wonder men give
in--generally. I won't say I was actually charmed by Mrs. Fyne. I was
not delighted with her. What affected me was not what she displayed but
something which she could not conceal. And that was emotion--nothing
less. The form of her declaration was dry, almost peremptory--but not
its tone. Her voice faltered just the least bit, she smiled faintly; and
as we were looking straight at each other I observed that her eyes were
glistening in a peculiar manner. She was distressed. And indeed that
Mrs. Fyne should have appealed to me at all was in itself the evidence of
her profound distress. "By Jove she's desperate too," I thought. This
discovery was followed by a movement of instinctive shrinking from this
unreasonable and unmasculine affair. They were all alike, with their
supreme interest aroused only by fighting with each other about some man:
a lover, a son, a brother.
"But do you think there's time yet to do anything?" I asked.