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 kissed goodbye, she hoped that he felt the same reluctance to part. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face. Oh, I know. Why don’t you wait and see if you do truly love me, then I can believe you? Then I know I am worth waiting for.
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