Simpson looked at us pityingly.
"There's a lot more in it than that," he said. "The President will introduce you to anybody. One might see—er—somebody one rather liked the look of, and—er—— Well, I mean in an hotel one wants to enter into the hotel life and—er—meet other people."
"Who is she?" said Myra.
"Anybody you want to marry must be submitted to Myra for approval first," I said. "We've told you so several times."
Simpson hastily disclaimed any intention of marrying anybody, and helped himself lavishly to champagne.
It so happened that I was the first of our party to meet the President, an honour which, perhaps, I hardly deserved. While Samuel was seeking tortuous introductions to him through friends of Peterhouse friends of his, the President and I fell into each other's arms in the most natural way.
It occurred like this. There was a dance after dinner; and Myra, not satisfied with my appearance, sent me upstairs to put some gloves on. (It is one of the penalties of marriage that one is always being sent upstairs.) With my hands properly shod I returned to the ball-room, and stood for a moment in a corner while I looked about for her. Suddenly I heard a voice at my side.
"Do you want a partner?" it said.
I turned, and knew that I was face to face with the President.
"Well——" I began.