Aubrey at the mantelpiece, gazing at himself in the mirror, said simply:
“Bosh!”
“Rather a dramatic situation when you come to think of it, eh?” said Fluffy Reubens, lolling his full length in the easy-chair.
Rippley, his hands in his trousers pockets, considered the situation with reflective eye fixed on the carpet:
“And a rippin’ dramatic emotion, eh! To feel one’s self being wrangled about from one end of the country to the other——”
Aubrey turned languidly from the mirror:
“Ah!” said he, “and then to listen to it all, robed in the delightful invisible cloak of pseudonymity!”
Rippley laughed drily:
“No, no, Aubrey, old man—that wouldn’t have suited you at all. You wouldn’t have lasted at it for a fortnight.”
Lovegood smiled: