Page:The Works of H G Wells Volume 5.pdf/413

Rh "There's really nothing in eyes, you know, Chatteris," said my cousin Melville, borrowing an alien argument and a tone of analytical cynicism from me. "Have you ever looked at eyes through a hole in a sheet?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Chatteris. "I don't mean the mere physical eye. Perhaps it's the look of health—and the bath chair. A bold discord. You don't know what's the matter, Melville?"

"How?"

"I gather from Bunting it's a disablement—not a deformity."

"He ought to know."

"I'm not so sure of that. You don't happen to know the nature of her disablement?"

"I can't tell at all," said Melville in a speculative tone. It struck him he was getting to prevaricate better.

The subject seemed exhausted. They spoke of a common friend whom the sight of the Métropole suggested. Then they did not talk at all for a time, until the stir and interest of the band-stand was passed. Then Chatteris threw out a thought.

"Complex business—feminine motives," he remarked.

"How?"

"This canvassing. She can't be interested in philanthropic Liberalism."

"Why not?"

"There's a difference in the type. And besides, it's a personal matter."

"Not necessarily, is it? Surely there's not such an