And she had caught him in absent-minded contemplation of the hands he had been describing.

He knew that his face was the face of a guilty man.
"What is the next question ?" he stammered, eager to answer it in a manner calculated to allay her suspicions.
"The next question ?" She glanced at the list, then with a voice of velvet which belied the eyes, clear as frosty brown pools in November: "The next question requires a description of her feet." "Feet! Oh---they--they're rather large--why, her feet are enormous, I believe--" She looked at him as though stunned; suddenly a flood of pink spread, wave on wave, from the white nape of her neck to her hair; she bent low over her pad and wrote something, remaining in that attitude until her face cooled.
"Somehow or other I've done it again!" he thought, horrified.

"The best thing I can do is to end it and go home." In his distress he began to hedge, saying: "Of course, she is rather tall and her feet are in some sort of proportion--in fact, they are perfectly symmetrical feet--" Never in his life had he encountered a pair of such angrily beautiful eyes.

Speech stopped with a dry gulp.
"We now come to 'General Remarks,'" she said in a voice made absolutely steady and emotionless.

"Have you any remarks of that description to offer, Mr.Gatewood ?" "I'm willing to make remarks," he said, "if I only knew what you wished me to say." She mused, eyes on the sunny window, then looked up.