” “Of course you’re converted?” she said. You steered and I rowed stroke. E. McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. “Mary!” He whispered loudly. ’ ‘I do not lie to you now,’ she said, near frantic at the thought of losing him. 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. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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