“Perhaps not,” George conceded. “Most people are cold-blooded asses.”
“Very likely the explanation lies in that fact,” said I.
“I didn’t mean you, old chap,” said George, with a penitence which showed that he had meant me.
“Oh, all right, all right,” said I.
“But when a man’s really far gone there’s nothing else in the world but it.”
“That seems to me not to be a healthy condition,” said I.
“Healthy? Oh, you old idiot, Sam! Who’s talking of health? Now, only last night I met her at a dance. I had five dances with her—talked to her half the evening, in fact. Well, you’d think that would last some time, wouldn’t you?”
“I should certainly have supposed so,” I assented.
“So it would with most chaps, I dare say, but with me—confound it, I feel as if I hadn’t seen her for six months!”
“But, my dear George, that’s surely rather absurd? As you tell me, you spent a long while with the young person—”