David drew a long breath, and stretched his arms and legs out in the form of one crucified till elbows and knees were taut.
“Violet Gray!” he said, dwelling on the syllables. “Did you ever hear such a jolly name? And it’s just like her; it’s a slim, honey-coloured-hair name.”
Bags groaned slightly. It really was appalling for David to be in this deplorable state.
“Violet Gray,” he said, in a business-like manner. “H’m, Violet Gray! I think it sounds better than Violet Blaize.”
David sat up.
“Bags, you don’t understand one single thing about it,” he said. “How can I explain? She’s just the most wonderful and beautiful thing that ever happened. I wonder if Frank will understand. I shall tell him, but nobody else. He’s coming down end of next week.”
“He’ll probably cut you out,” said Bags, who thought a bracing treatment was best for his idiotic friend.
“Not he: we’re pals. Of course he could if he wanted, since any girl would fall in love with Frank straight off, if he held up his little finger. Jove, I’d give anything to see the ’Varsity cricket-match this week. And to think that in final house-match last year I was in at one end, and a Cambridge cricket blue the other.”
“Well, that happened to everybody else in the house-eleven,” said Bags, “since Maddox went in first and carried his bat!”
David laughed.