"Does it? That's all right! I may be permitted to remark that our ideas on opaqueness would be likely to differ!"
"It was she—oh, Dick, Dick, Dick! Don't you understand?"
"How can I help doing so—when you are so lucid! You brainless old firework, you; let off some more crackers."
"Dick! Dick! It was she, she who christened me Prince!"
"What! Why, you said it was the girl to whom you had spoken about marriage!"
"Quite right."
The idea returned to Dick that there must be something wrong, very wrong—as he put it—in Masters' upper storey. Marriage! With Gracie! It was simply too absurd for words; he said:
"You jibbering old idiot, you, what do you mean? Gracie isn't five years old!"
"I know! I know! I know! And yet a month ago at Wivernsea I promised her, if when she grew up she wanted to marry me—which she won't—that I would."
"Wivernsea! Why, you know my sister!"