"No," she said, "your nose is there all right. I can see it with the naked eye." "Do not," I said, "give way to frivolity. I may have to go to France. Therefore I may want a passport. I am now filling in an application for it, and I find to my regret that I have got to give details of my personal appearance, including my nose. I ask you to help me, and all you can do is to allude darkly to Colney Hatch. Is that kind? Is it even wifely?" "But why can't you describe it yourself?" "Don't be absurd, Francesca. What does a man know about his own nose? He only sees it full-face for a few minutes every morning when he's shaving or parting his hair. If he ever does catch a glimpse of it in profile the dreadful and unexpected sight unmans him and he does his best to forget it. I give you my word of honour, Francesca, I haven't the vaguest notion what my nose is really like." "Well," she said, "I think you might safely put it down as a loud blower and a hearty sneezer." "I'm sure," I said, "that wouldn't satisfy Sir EDWARD GREY. He doesn't want to know what it sounds like, but what it looks like." "How would 'fine and substantial' suit it?" "Ye--es," I said, "that might do if by 'fine' you mean delicate----" "I don't," she said. "And if 'substantial' is to be equivalent to handsome." "It isn't," she said. "Then we'll abandon that line. How would 'aquiline' do? Aren't some noses called aquiline?" "Yes," she said, "but yours has never been one of them. Try again." "Francesca," I said pleadingly, "do not suggest to me that my nose is turned up, because I cannot bear it. I do not want to have a turned-up nose, and what's more I don't mean to have one, not even to please the British Foreign Office and all its permanent officials." "It shan't have a turned-up nose, then. It shall have a Roman nose." "Bravo!" I cried "Bravo! Roman it shall be," and I dipped my pen and prepared to write the word down in the blank space on the application form. "Stop!" said Francesca. "Don't do anything rash. Now that I look at you again I'm not sure that yours is a Roman nose." "Oh, Francesca, do not say such cruel, such upsetting things. It must, it shall be Roman." "What," she asked, "is a Roman nose?" "Mine is," I said eagerly. "No nose was ever one-half so Roman as mine. It is the noblest Roman of them all." "No," she said, with a sigh, "it won't do. I can't pass it as Roman." "All right," I said, "I'll put it down as 'non-Roman.'" "Yes, do," she said, "and let's get on to something else." "Eyes," I said. "How shall I describe them?" "Green," said Francesca. "No, grey." "Green." "Grey." "Let's compromise on grey-green." "Right," I said. "Grey-green and gentle. Sir EDWARD GREY will appreciate that. Oh, bother! I've written it in the space devoted to 'hair.' However it's easy to----"