Frayne.
[In sentimental retrospection.] Fell in love! what memories are awakened by the dear old phrase!
Quex.
[Dryly.] Yes. Will you talk about your love affairs, Chick, or shall I—?
Frayne.
Certainly—you. Go on, Harry.
Quex.
When I proposed marriage to Miss Eden—it was at the hunt-ball at Stanridge—
Frayne.
[His eyes sparkling.] Did you select a retired corner—with flowers—by any chance?