I'll see you to-morrow." "But aren't you going to tell me what you think of her ?" he cried in great dismay.
The pavement was muddy, the evening dark, and a gusty wind blew the drizzle into our faces.

It is only the preposterously young who expect a man to rhapsodise over somebody else's inamorata at such a moment.

I turned up the fur collar of my coat.
"She is good-looking," said I.
"Any idiot can see that!" he burst out impatiently.

"I want to know what opinion you formed of her." I reflected.

If I could have labelled her as the Scarlet Woman, the Martyred Saint, the Jolly Bohemian, or the Bold Adventuress, my task would have been easy.