He laughed. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. He was asleep. That is why I was so anxious to leave Paris. “I can’t. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. But I was portentous, I can assure you.
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