She’s an angel.”
“All right. Carry on.”
“I love her.”
“Right-o! Push along.”
“For goodness sake don’t bustle me. Let me tell the story in my own way. I love her, as I was saying, and I want you, Bertie, old boy, to pop round to my uncle and do a bit of diplomatic work. That allowance of mine must be restored, and dashed quick, too. What’s more, it must be increased.”
“But look here,” I said, being far from keen on the bally business, “why not wait awhile?”
“Wait? What’s the good of waiting?”
“Well, you know what generally happens when you fall in love. Something goes wrong with the works and