She led the way. With thundering pulses George followed. His Mary rose. Miss Ram introduced them.
George rolled his tongue in a dry mouth; passed it over dry lips. He had no words.
“Have you no questions?” Miss Ram asked severely.
For a third time since he had entered this building, panic broke damply upon George's brow. He blew his nose; in a very faint voice asked: “Your age is twenty-one?”
Upon an agitated squeak his Mary told him: “Yes.”
“Ah!” In desperation he paused: caught Miss Ram's awful eye; was goaded to fresh plunge. “Ah, one-and-twenty?”
In a tiny squeak Mary replied: “Yes.”
He shuffled in desperation. “When will you be twenty-two?”
“In February.”
“Ah! February.” This was awful. “February.”