’ He took his seat next to her, waving the fulminating captain towards the tray. 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. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. Her dress, it has just been said, was neatness and simplicity itself. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house.
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