“I flatter myself, Mr. Trender, that it’ll want a microscoptic eye to find flaws in my phraseology.”
He thrust back his head and expanded his chest.
“But I’m overlooking my errand,” said he. “The young lady, as has called before, Mr. Straw, rung me down just now for a message to you.”
“Oh, what was it?”
“She wanted to know if you was game for a walk and she’d be waiting under the market till half after nine.”
“Very well,” and Mr. Cringle took himself off.
“It’s Dolly Mellison,” said Duke to me. “We often go for a Sunday tramp together.”
“Well, don’t stop for me, if you want to go.”
“We’ll both go—why not?”
“Oh, not for anything. Fancy my intruding myself on her.”