“Liked what?”
“Why the way in which you smothered up all your old resentment against that poor woman. You know you were breathing out fire and slaughter against her when we got away.”
“Well, I was angry then, and mortified, and troubled.”
“And now it’s all balm, and oil-olive, and honey, eh, old fellow? The beating, bounding heart at rest.”
“Don’t be an idiot!”
“Why not? The ways of wisdom are hard, and cold, and thorny. Folly is pleasant sometimes.”
“You don’t think so.”
“Indeed I do. You heard what an idiot I was in throwing up that Barlowesque chance?”
“Was that meant for a pun on burlesque?”
“I didn’t mean it,” said Chumbley. “Take it so if you like. But I say, old fellow, I am glad that you have smoothed down about the Inche Maida.”