"Your speech is like a hornet, the sting's in the tail. Have you read the papers this morning?"
"No," replied Mallow, listlessly. "What's in them?"
"The usual nothing. France is abusing us, Germany is envying us, Russia is warning us, and the U.S.A. are beginning to see that blood is thicker than foreign ditch-water."
"And what are we doing?"
"Holding our tongues and picking up unconsidered geographical trifles. Silence is ever golden annexation with us."
"Upon my word, Jim," said Mallow, with good-humoured astonishment, "you are getting beyond words of one syllable. You can actually construct a sentence with a visible idea in it."
"I am growing up, Mallow; age is coming upon me."
"Well, Jim, suppose we take a walk."
Aldean laughed, and pointed with the stem of his pipe towards the red roofs of the distant manor house, "Over there, I suppose?"
"Jim, you have no tact. If our steps do tend in that direction, wandering in devious ways, I--I--well, I have not forgotten that Miss Ostergaard is paying a visit to--to--Miss Slarge."