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. As they 56 approached the manor, she was permitted to peep her head outside the chariot's front window. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway.
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