"I hit Susan in the eye," Dennison said reflectively. "Was Susan Tom Harrison's inamorata?" he asked.
"Talk English and I may answer you. It doesn't matter a row of pins who Susan was as long as she has a black eye," I replied.
"It is evidently no good speaking to you until you have calmed down. You remind me of a damp squib, all fuss and no result. I am going to dinner," Dennison said, and went out of the room without looking at either Ward or myself.
"I shall do something awful to that brute before I have finished with him. He makes me mad," I said, and Ward walked across the room to me.
"I am most horribly sorry about this," he began, "and I will come back straight from the Sceptre and see you. Be in at nine o'clock."
"You didn't shoot at those people, did you?" I asked.
"No; but well, you see, Dennison is better than I am at getting in for a row, and I am better at getting out of it."
"He's a low-down hound," I asserted, and after promising to be in at nine o'clock I seized my gown and went away. As I went into the hall I met Collier, and during dinner I expressed my opinion of Dennison very freely. There are times at Oxford when you regret most tremendously that you have left school, and this was one of them.
"A fellow like that would be kicked at any decent school," I said.
"He was kicked at Charbury until he managed to become a sort of blood. He played racquets very well," Collier added, as if by way of an excuse.