‘Violet! You have ruined our happiness. How could you have the heart to do it! It is not for myself I speak, God knows. But to think of her feelings being so abused, her confidence so shaken—’
‘All right, Frankie, there is nothing to be tragic about.’
‘Haven’t you been to my house?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘And seen her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well then—’
‘I didn’t give you away, my boy. I was a model of discretion. I give you my word that it is all right. And she’s a dear little soul, Frankie. You’re not worthy to varnish those pretty patent leathers of hers. You know you’re not. And by Jove, Frankie, if you had stayed with me yesterday I should never have forgiven you—no, never! I’ll resign in her favour. I will. But in no one else’s, and if ever I hear of your going wrong, my boy, or doing anything but the best with that sweet trusting woman, I’ll make you curse the day that ever you knew me—I will, by the living Jingo.’
‘Do, Violet—you have my leave.’
‘All right. The least said the soonest mended. Give me a kiss before we part.’