‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. “He looks as though he did, at any rate. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. I must take you to the Suffrage people, and the Tolstoyans, and the Fabians. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. If you knew your aunt were alive, if she expected you, that would be different. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland. He went on with intense urgency. 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.
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