"Quite," agreed the major, wisely. "But I'm not a puritan myself."
John bowed again to show his appreciation of the admission.
"Oh, no. Rather the reverse, in fact. I play golf every Sunday, and if it's wet I play bridge."
John wished that George would be quick with his coat.
"But I don't go in much for the theater nowadays."
"Don't you?"
"No, though I used to when I was a subaltern. By gad, yes! But it was better, I think, in my young days. No offense to you, Mr. Touchwood."
"Distance does lend enchantment," John assented.
"Quite, quite. I suppose you don't remember a piece at the old Prince of Wales? What was it called? Upon my soul, I've forgotten. It was a capital piece, though. I remember there was a scene in which the uncle—or it may not have been the uncle—no, I'm wrong. It was at the Strand. Or was it? God bless my soul, I don't know which it was. You don't remember the piece? It was either at the Prince of Wales or the Strand, or, by Jove, was it Toole's?"
Was George never coming? Every moment would bring Major Downman nearer to the heart of his reminiscence, and unless he escaped soon he might have to submit to a narrative of the whole plot.