“Gogo,” he yawned presently, after an idle, preoccupied silence, “which would you rather marry, a woman of wit or virtue?”
“Neither, you blattering genius!” cried the other, turning round with such an instant roar that I was almost frightened off my perch.
The master, accustomed to his strange fellow’s moods, only laughed, and leaned back indolent.
“Why, you old dear?” said he.
Gogo thundered.
“She’s a rotten fish at best, shining the more the more corrupt she is.”
“But if she don’t shine?” said de Crespigny coolly.
“Then she’s a dull fish,” said Gogo, “but a fish still.”
The other mused, and sniggered.
“—Who’s for ever playing to be caught,” added Gogo, grumbling. “She loves the angle. Play her what you like, man, only throw her back when hooked.”