“Marriage. To Bundle. Don’t ask me why. I suppose he’s come to what they call the dangerous age. I can’t explain it any other way.”
“Proposing to Bundle? The dirty swine. At his age.”
Bill’s face grew crimson.
“He says he’s in the prime of life,” said Lord Caterham cautiously.
“He? Why, he’s decrepit—senile! I—” Bill positively choked.
“Not at all,” said Lord Caterham coldly. “He’s five years younger than I am.”
“Of all the damned cheek! Codders and Bundle! A girl like Bundle! You oughtn’t to have allowed it.”
“I never interfere,” said Lord Caterham.
“You ought to have told him what you thought of him.”
“Unfortunately modern civilisation rules that out,” said Lord Caterham regretfully. “In the Stone Age now—but, dear me, I suppose even then I shouldn’t be able to do it—being a small man.”
“Bundle! Bundle! Why, I’ve never dared to ask Bundle to marry me because I knew she’d only laugh. And George—a disgusting windbag, an unscrupulous, hypocritical old hot air merchant—a foul, poisonous self-advertiser—”
“Go on,” said Lord Caterham. “I am enjoying this.”
“My God!” said Bill simply and with feeling. “Look here, I must be off.”
“No, no, don’t go. I’d much rather you stayed. Besides, you want to see Bundle.”