was, and he grunted out:

"It's a sort of a thing they give grocers who've honourably supplied
the troops with adulterated coffee in war-time"--something of that
sort. He did not quite carry conviction to me, so, in the end, I put
it directly to Leonora. I asked her fully and squarely--prefacing the
question with some remarks, such as those that I have already
given you, as to the difficulty one has in really getting to know
people when one's intimacy is conducted as an English
acquaintanceship--I asked her whether her husband was not really
a splendid fellow--along at least the lines of his public functions.
She looked at me with a slightly awakened air--with an air that
would have been almost startled if Leonora could ever have been
startled.

"Didn't you know?" she asked. "If I come to think of it there is not
a more splendid fellow in any three counties, pick them where you
will--along those lines." And she added, after she had looked at
me reflectively for what seemed a long time:

"To do my husband justice there could not be a better man on the
earth. There would not be room for it--along those lines."

"Well," I said, "then he must really be Lohengrin and the Cid in
one body. For there are not any other lines that count."

Again she looked at me for a long time.

"It's your opinion that there are no other lines that count?" she
asked slowly.