"Oh, Pope—a chipmunk! He might at least have allowed you the dignity of a bear or a mountain lion!"
"There are no mountain lions in these parts," I said with some dignity.
"Or a duck-billed platypus. Oh, I say, Pope, it's too rich. I can't help picturing it. Did they coo? Oh, Lord!"
"It was nauseating!" I retorted in accents so genuine that he laughed again.
"It's no laughing matter, I tell you, Jack," I said. "The boy is completely bewitched. He thinks he adores her. He doesn't. I know."
And bit by bit, while his expression grew interested, I told him all that I had heard.
"It's animal, purely animal," I concluded. "And he doesn't know it."
"By George! He's awakening, you think?"
"I'm sure of it. She's leading him on, for the mere sport of the thing. It has been going on for four months now, almost every day. He's pretty desperate. She won't marry him. She doesn't love him. She loves nobody—but herself."
"What will be the end of the matter?" he asked.