“But you were whiffled at the time.”

“Exactly. What right has an inebriated jailbird to aspire to a goddess?”

My heart bled for the poor old chap.

“Aren’t you exaggerating things a trifle, old lad?” I said. “Everybody who has had a gentle upbringing gets a bit sozzled on Boat-Race night, and the better element nearly always have trouble with the gendarmes.”

He shook his head.

“It’s no good, Bertie. You mean well, but words are useless. No, I can but worship from afar. When I am in her presence a strange dumbness comes over me. My tongue seems to get entangled with my tonsils. I could no more muster up the nerve to propose to her than⁠—Come in!” he shouted.