"I found Lord Monckton's monocle, Mr. Webb. Will you be so kind as to
give it to him?"
"Yes, Miss Killigrew." Absently he raised the monocle and squinted
through it. "Why, it's plain glass!" he exclaimed.
"So it is," replied Kitty, with a crooked smile. "And I dare say so
are most of the monocles we see. A silly affectation, don't you think
so?"
He was instantly up in arms. The monocle was a British institution,
and he would as soon have denied the divine right of kings as question
an Englishman's right to wear what he pleased in his eye.
"It was originally designed for a man whose left eye was weaker than
the right. Besides, we don't notice them over there."
"I have often wondered what the wearers do when their noses itch."
"Doubtless they scratch them."
Kitty's laughter bubbled. It subsided instantly. Her hand reached
out, then dropped. She had almost said: "Thomas, what have you done
with my sapphires?" Urgent as the impulse was, she crushed it back.
For deep in her heart she wanted to believe in Thomas; wanted to
believe that it was only a mad wager such as Englishmen propose, accept
and see to the end.
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