“Are you, though?” said George, stubbornly.
“I am sixty-five, you know,” said his friend, with an air of modest pride. “The ideal age, if I may say so, for wisdom, experience, and knowledge of the world to coalesce in the service of innocence, beauty, and extreme youth. At least, I know that is Caroline Crewkerne’s opinion.”
“Goin’ to marry the gal, are you?” said George, bluntly.
Some men are very blunt by nature.
“The exigencies of the situation may render that course expedient,” said Cheriton, rather forensically. “But in any case, my dear George, speaking with the frankness to which I feel that my advantage in years entitles me, I am inclined to doubt the seemliness of the open pursuit by a man of nine-and-fifty of a wayside flower.”
“What d’ye mean, Cheriton?” said George, with a more furious gobble than any he had yet achieved.
“What I really mean, my dear fellow,” said his friend, “is that you can no longer indulge in the pleasures of the chase without your spectacles. Had you been furnished with those highly useful, if not specially ornamental adjuncts to the human countenance, you would have been able to observe that the wonderful Miss Perry—whose hair, by the way, is yellow—was spirited away exactly ninety seconds before you arrived on the scene.”
“Who took her?” said George, who by now had grown purple with suppressed energy.
“A young fellow took her,” said Cheriton. “A smart, dashing, well-set-up young fellow took her, my dear George. He simply came up, tossed her the handkerchief, and away they set off hell for leather. By now they are at the Albert Memorial.”
No sooner was this information conveyed to him than George Betterton did a vain and foolish thing. Without bestowing another word upon Cheriton he set off in pursuit. It was supremely ridiculous that he should have behaved in any such fashion. But it is surprising how soon the most stalwart among us loses his poise; how soon the most careful performer topples off the tight-rope of perfect discretion and sanity. The spectacle of George pursuing the runaways with a haste that was almost as unseemly as their own was certainly romantic. And at the same time it provided infinitely pleasant food for the detached observer who was responsible for George’s behavior.