"They say he's a woman hater," said Lady Viping. "It hardly looks like
it now, does it?"
"Who?" I asked. "What?--oh!--Justin."
"The great financial cannibal. Suppose she turned him into a
philanthropist! Stranger things have happened. Look!--now. The man's
face is positively tender."
I hated looking, and I could not help but look. It was as if this
detestable old woman was dragging me down and down, down far below all
dignity to her own level of a peeping observer. Justin was saying
something to Mary in an undertone, something that made her glance up
swiftly and at me before she answered, and there I was with my head side
by side with those quivering dyed curls, that flighty black bonnet, that
remorseless observant lorgnette. I could have sworn aloud at the
hopeless indignity of my pose.