My cousin shares with me a profound detestation of that high mystic method of treating women. He likes women to be finite--and nice. In fact, he likes everything to be finite--and nice. So he merely grunted. But Chatteris was not to be stopped by that. He passed to a critical note. "No doubt it's all illusion. All women are impressionists, a patch, a light. You get an effect. And that is all you are meant to get, I suppose. She gets an effect. But how--that's the mystery. It's not merely beauty. There's plenty of beauty in the world. But not of these effects. The eyes, I fancy." He dwelt on that for a moment. "There's really nothing in eyes, you know, Chatteris," said my cousin Melville, borrowing an alien argument and a tone of analytical cynicism from me. "Have you ever looked at eyes through a hole in a sheet?" "Oh, I don't know," said Chatteris. "I don't mean the mere physical eye.... Perhaps it's the look of health--and the bath chair. A bold discord. You don't know what's the matter, Melville?" "How?" "I gather from Bunting it's a disablement--not a deformity." "He ought to know." "I'm not so sure of that. You don't happen to know the nature of her disablement?" "I can't tell at all," said Melville in a speculative tone. It struck him he was getting to prevaricate better. The subject seemed exhausted. They spoke of a common friend whom the sight of the Métropole suggested. Then they did not talk at all for a time, until the stir and interest of the band stand was passed. Then Chatteris threw out a thought. "Complex business--feminine motives," he remarked. "How?" "This canvassing. _She_ can't be interested in philanthropic Liberalism." "There's a difference in the type. And besides, it's a personal matter." "Not necessarily, is it? Surely there's not such an intellectual gap between the sexes! If _you_ can get interested----" "Oh, I know." "Besides, it's not a question of principles. It's the fun of electioneering." "Fun!" "There's no knowing what won't interest the feminine mind," said Melville, and added, "or what will." Chatteris did not answer. "It's the district visiting instinct, I suppose," said Melville. "They all have it. It's the canvassing. All women like to go into houses that don't belong to them." "Very likely," said Chatteris shortly, and failing a reply from Melville, he gave way to secret meditations, it would seem still of a fairly agreeable sort. The twelve o'clock gun thudded from Shornecliffe Camp. "By Jove!" said Chatteris, and quickened his steps. * * * * * They found Adeline busy amidst her papers. As they entered she pointed reproachfully, yet with the protrusion of a certain Marcella-like undertone of sweetness, at the clock. The apologies of Chatteris were effusive and winning, and involved no mention of the Sea Lady on the Leas.