Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. Have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, Sir Rowland. I can’t. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Her eye met his four inches away, and his was glaring, immense, and full of resolution, a stupendous monster of an eye.
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