in this?

It is futile to advance the argument that glasses are unromantic. They
are not. I know, because I wear them myself, and I am a singularly
romantic figure, whether in my rimless, my Oxford gold-bordered, or
the plain gent's spectacles which I wear in the privacy of my study.

Besides, everybody wears glasses nowadays. That is the point I wish to
make. For commercial reasons, if for no others, authors ought to think
seriously of this matter of goggling their heroes. It is an admitted
fact that the reader of a novel likes to put himself in the hero's
place--to imagine, while reading, that he is the hero. What an
audience the writer of the first romance to star a spectacled hero
will have. All over the country thousands of short-sighted men will
polish their glasses and plunge into his pages. It is absurd to go on
writing in these days for a normal-sighted public. The growing
tenseness of life, with its small print, its newspapers read by
artificial light, and its flickering motion pictures, is whittling
down the section of the populace which has perfect sight to a mere
handful.

I seem to see that romance. In fact, I think I shall write it myself.
"'Evadne,' murmured Clarence, removing his pince-nez and polishing
them tenderly....'" "'See,' cried Clarence, 'how clearly every leaf of
yonder tree is mirrored in the still water of the lake. I can't see
myself, unfortunately, for I have left my glasses on the parlor piano,
but don't worry about me: go ahead and see!" ... "Clarence adjusted his
tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles with a careless gesture, and faced the
assassins without a tremor." Hot stuff? Got the punch? I should say
so. Do you imagine that there will be a single man in this country