“Have you seen a girl popping about here with a parson brother?”
“Miss Hemmingway, sir? Yes, sir.”
“Aunt Agatha wants me to marry her.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Well, what about it?”
“Sir?”
“I mean, have you anything to suggest?”
“No, sir.”
The blighter’s manner was so cold and unchummy that I bit the bullet and had a dash at being airy.
“Oh, well, tra-la-la!” I