"I see nothing whatever to laugh at," said Mrs. Hilary coldly, when I had finished.
"I did not ask you to laugh," I observed mildly. "I mentioned it merely as a typical case.""It's not typical," she said, and took up her embroidery. But a moment later she added:
"Poor boy! I'm not surprised."
"I'm not surprised either," I remarked. "It is, however, extremely deplorable.""It's your own fault. Why did you introduce him?""A book," I observed, "might be written on the Injustice of the Just. How could I suppose that he would--?"By the way, I might as well state what he--that is, my young cousin George--had done. Unless one is a genius, it is best to aim at being intelligible.
Well, he was in love; and with a view of providing him with another house at which he might be likely to meet the adored object, I presented him to my friend Lady Mickleham. That was on a Tuesday. A fortnight later, as I was sitting in Hyde Park (as I sometimes do), George came up and took the chair next to me. Igave him a cigarette, but made no remark. George beat his cane restlessly against the leg of his trousers.
"I've got to go up tomorrow," he remarked.
"Ah, well, Oxford is a delightful town," said I.
"D----d hole," observed George.
I was about to contest this opinion when a victoria drove by.
A girl sat in it, side by side with a portly lady.
"George, George!" I cried. "There she is--Look!"George looked, raised his hat with sufficient politeness, and remarked to me:
"Hang it, one sees those people everywhere."
I am not easily surprised, but I confess I turned to George with an expression of wonder.
"A fortnight ago--" I began.
"Don't be an ass, Sam," said George, rather sharply. "She's not a bad girl, but--" He broke off and began to whistle. There was a long pause. I lit a cigar, and looked at the people.
"I lunched at the Micklehams' today," said George, drawing a figure on the gravel with his cane. "Mickleham's not a bad fellow.""One of the best fellows alive," I agreed.
"I wonder why she married him, though," mused George; and he added, with apparent irrelevance, "It's a dashed bore, going up."And then a smile spread over his face; a blush accompanied it, and proclaimed George's sense of delicious wickedness. I turned on him.
"Out with it!" I said.
"It's nothing. Don't be a fool," said George.
"Where did you get that rose?" I asked.
"This rose?" he repeated, fondling the blossom. "It was given to me."Upon this I groaned--and I still consider that I had good reason for my action. It was the groan of a moralist.
"They've asked me to stay at The Towers next vac.," said George, glancing at me out of the corner of an immoral eye. Perhaps he thought it too immoral, for he added, "It's all right, Sam." Ibelieve that I have as much self control as most people, but at this point I chuckled.
"What the deuce are you laughing at?" asked George.
I made no answer, and he went on--"You never told me what a--what she was like, Sam. Wanted to keep it to yourself, you old dog.""George--George--George!" said I. "You go up tomorrow?""Yes, confound it!"
"And term lasts two months?"
"Yes, hang it!"
"All is well," said I, crossing my legs. "There is more virtue in two months than in Ten Commandments."George regarded me with a dispassionate air.
"You're an awful ass sometimes," he observed critically, and he rose from his seat.
"Must you go?" said I.
"Yes--got a lot of things to do. Look here, Sam, don't go and talk about--""Talk about what?"
