"A month. I say?"
"Yes?"
"Are you doing anything on the nineteenth?"
Wagstaffe regarded his young friend suspiciously.
"Is this a catch of some kind?" he enquired.
"Oh, no. Will you be my—" Bobby turned excessively pink, and completed his request.
Wagstaffe surveyed him resignedly.
"We all come to it, I suppose," he observed.
"Only some come to it sooner than others. Are you of age, my lad? Have your parents—"
"I'm twenty-two," said Bobby shortly.