A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his own. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper.
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