Smythe.
Lifting?
Von Rettenmayer.
Mr. Davish—Mr. Balk—eggsdremely glever; slipping his arm through Smythe’s but if you could zee your way glear to gif Enid—Miss Mongreiff—anoder dance——
Smythe.
Nodding. Ah, h’m, h’m.
Von Rettenmayer.
It would remove the zolitary imberfection.
Smythe.
Er—I’ll think it over. Releasing himself. I’m just going to wash my hands. We’ll talk about it later.