That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. ‘If you’ll have the goodness, missie, to move yourself out of the way,’ he said aggrievedly, ‘and let us at him, we might have a chance of doing just that. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. . “That doesn’t touch the question I asked you,” she said. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave.
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