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His throat filled; he wanted to weep. Not at all. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. Then came the great day. I don’t mind telling you chaps that except on the stage I haven’t set eyes on her this side of the water. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. She caught her finger in the lock and had to ask him to help pry it out. She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them subtle and fine.

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