“Well, you’re such an impulsive devil. By Jove, the fellow that first called you ‘Bangs’ was a bit of a spotter.”
“It was Abercrombie,” Michael reminded him.
“I should think that was the only clever thing he ever did in his life,” said Alan.
“Why, I thought you considered him no end of a good man.”
“He was a good forward and a good deep field,” Alan granted. “But that doesn’t make him Shakespeare.”
Thence onwards war, or rather sport the schoolboys’ substitute, ousted love from the conversation, and very soon solo whist with Mr. and Mrs. Merivale disposed of both.
On Tuesday night Michael in a fever of enthusiasm for Wednesday’s approach wrote a letter to Stella.
64 CARLINGTON ROAD ,
October , 1900.
My dear Stella,
After this you needn’t grouse about my letters being dull, and you can consider yourself jolly honoured because I’m writing to tell you that I’m in love. Her name is Lily Haden. Only, of course, please don’t go shouting this all over Germany, and don’t write a gushing letter to mother, who doesn’t know anything about it. I shouldn’t tell you if you were in London, and don’t write back and tell me that you’re in love with some long-haired dancing-master or one-eyed banjo-player, because I know now what love is, and it’s nothing like what you think it is.