Frayne.

[Rising painfully.] Yesterday—! [Gravely.] Harry, do you know there are moments when I feel that I am changing towards the sex; when I fancy I can discern the skeleton, as it were, through the rounded cheek?

Quex.

You!

Frayne.

Yes, this novel sentiment is undoubtedly gaining possession of your old friend—gradually, perhaps, but surely.

Quex.

[Regarding him searchingly.] Excuse me, Chick—did you turn into the Beefsteak when you got back from Richmond last night?

Frayne.

For an hour. Oh, a great mistake.