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. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. No, this was imbecile. Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. He caressed her tenderly, with no trace of the Sebastian who had previously knocked her off her feet with a slap across the mouth. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. Mr.
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