“Hah!” sighed the visitor, laying down his knife.
“Hallo! Not off, is it, old chap?”
“No, not off, Hilt, but I’m just where I was. Like the farmer over the claret, I don’t seem to get no furder.”
“Well, you must be a duffer, Jack.”
“I suppose I am, old man. Pluck enough in some things, but I’m afraid of her.”
“But haven’t you spoken?”
“No; I daren’t, for fear she should laugh at me, and the whole affair be quite off.”
“I say, Jack, you’re dead hit.”
“I am, old man—dead. Bless her! She’s an angel! But I’m afraid, after her experience with that old ruffian Tilborough, she has made up her mind never to run in double harness again.”
“Nonsense! Pluck up, old fellow; a woman likes a man to be manly, and if she accepted you—”