In truth, Miss Polly Brewster had sustained a shock. She had become accustomed to regard her beetle man rather more in the light of a beetle than a man. In fact, the human side of him had impressed her only as a certain dim appeal to sympathy; the masculine side had simply not existed. Now it was as if he had unmasked. The visage, so grotesque and gnomish behind its mechanical apparatus, had given place to a wholly different and formidably strange face. The change all centered in the eyes. They were wide-set eyes of the clearest, steadiest, and darkest gray she had ever met; and they looked out at her from sharply angled brows with a singular clarity and calmness of regard. In their light the man’s face became instinct with character in every line. Strength was there, self-control, dignity, a glint of humor in the little wrinkles at the corner of the mouth, and, withal a sort of quiet and sturdy beauty. She had half-turned her face from him. Now, as her gaze returned and was fixed by his, she felt a wave of blood expand her heart, rush upward into her cheeks, and press into her eyes tears of swift regret. But now she was sorry, not for him, but for herself, because he had become remote and difficult to her. “Have I startled you?” he asked curiously. “I’ll put them back on again.” “No, no; don’t do that!” She rallied herself to the point of laughing a little. “I’m a goose. You see, I’ve pictured you as quite different. Have you ever seen yourself in the glass with those dreadful disguises on?” “Why, no; I don’t suppose I have,” he replied, after reflection. “After all, they’re meant for use, not for ornament.” By this time she had mastered her confusion and was able to examine his face. Under his eyes were circles of dull gray, defined by deep lines, “Why, you’re worn out!” she cried pitifully. “Haven’t you been sleeping?” “Not much.” “You must take something for it.” The mothering instinct sprang to the rescue. “How much rest did you get last night?” “Let me see. Last night I did very well. Fully four hours.” “And that is more than you average?” “Well, yes; lately. You see, I’ve been pretty busy.” “Yet you’ve given up your time to my wretched, unimportant little stupid affairs! And what return have I made?” “You’ve made the sun shine,” he said, “in a rather shaded existence.” “Promise me that you’ll sleep to-night; that you won’t work a stroke.” “No; I can’t promise that.” “You’ll break down. You’ll go to pieces. What have you got to do more important than keeping in condition?” “As to that, I’ll last through. And there’s some business that won’t wait.” Divination came upon her. “Dad’s message!” “If it weren’t that, it would be something else.” Her hand went out to him, and was withdrawn. “Please put on your glasses,” she said shyly. Smiling, he did her bidding. “There! Now you are my beetle man again. No, not quite, though. You’ll never be quite the same beetle man again.” “I shall always be,” he contradicted gently.