An ugly man with a beard comes and takes them out in a motor car.

Do you know, I'm thinking of growing a beard.

I wonder how I should look in it ?" Emmy laughed and caught his sleeve.

"Why won't you even let me tell you what I think of you ?" "Wait till I've grown the beard, and then you can," said Septimus.
"That will be never," she retorted; "for if you grow a beard, you'll look a horror, like a Prehistoric Man--and I sha'n't have anything to do with you.
So I'll never be able to tell you." "It would be better so," said he.
They made many plans for settling down in some part of rural France or Switzerland--they had the map of Europe to choose from--but Septimus's vagueness and a disinclination for further adventure on the part of Emmy kept them in Paris.

The winter brightened into spring, and Paris, gay in lilac and sunshine, held them in her charm.