*    *    *    *    *

"Can't you understand, Aunt Constance, that I haven't the slightest desire to marry Ronnie.
We're great pals, and all that, but he's not my style. Too short, for one thing."
"Short?"
"I'm inches taller than he is. When we went up the aisle, I should look
like someone taking her little brother for a walk.

*    *    *    *    *

Hugo, in the billiard-room, was practicing pensive cannons and thinking
loving thoughts of his lady, coupled with an occasional reflection that a
short, swift binge in London would be a great wheeze if he could wangle it.

*    *    *    *    *

The butler had now begun to gargle slightly. He cast a look of agonized
entreaty at the bullfinch, but the bird had no comfort to offer. It continued
to chirp reflectively to itself, like a man trying to remember a tune in his bath.

*    *    *    *    *

The Hon. Galahad was regarding him through his monocle rather as
a cook eyes a black-beetle on discovering it in the kitchen sink.

*    *    *    *    *

The careworn figure of the butler had appeared,
walking as one pacing behind the coffin of an old friend.

*    *    *    *    *

Like most people who have made a defiant and dramatic gesture and then have leisure
to reflect, he was oppressed by a feeling that he had gone considerably farther
than was prudent. Samson, as he heard the pillars of the temple begin to crack,
must have felt the same. Gestures are all very well while the intoxication lasts.
The trouble is that it lasts such a very little while.

*    *    *    *    *

This done, he felt a little - not much, but a little - better.
Before, he would have gladly murdered Beach and James and danced
on their graves. Now, he would have been satisfied with straight murder.

*    *    *    *    *