The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. ‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. If Ann Veronica could have put words to that song they would have been, “Hot-blooded marriage or none!” but she was far too indistinct in this matter to frame any words at all. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable.
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