"Now, Tom," he said, pouring himself out a mighty drink—for his head was cast-steel, "you go and make yourself look pretty and then come back here, 'cos I have something to tell you."
I went obediently away, bathed, shaved, was assisted by Preston into evening clothes and returned to the dining-room about a quarter to ten.
"What have you got to tell me, Pat?"
He thought for a moment. I believe that he always had to summon his words out of some cupboard in his brain—"Tom, I've seen the most beautiful girl in the world."
"Then leg it, Pat, hare away from temptation, or she'll have you!"—Pat had ten thousand a year and had been a dead mark for all sorts of schemes for the last two years.
"Don't be a silly ass, Tom, you don't know what you're talking about. This is serious."
"I don't know who you're talking about."
He was heaving himself out of his chair to explain, when the door opened and Preston announced "Lord Arthur Winstanley."
"Hallo, what brings you here?" I said.
"Thought I'd come in for a drink. Saw you were going to mother's to-night, Tom, thought we might as well be going together. Hallo, Pat. You coming along too?"