When a Man's Single: A Tale of Literary Life

by J. M. Barrie

'Something silly, I should say.'

'He asked old Jerry, as cool as you like, to pass the butter! That's the sort of fellow Greybrooke is.'

'How is Mary?'

'Oh, she's all right. No, she has a headache. I say, Greybrooke says Mary's rather slow.'

'He must be a horror,' said Nell, 'and I don't see why you brought him here.'

'I thought you would like to see him,' explained Will. 'He made a hundred and three against Rugby, and was only bowled off his pads.'

'Well,' said Nell, yawning, 'I suppose I must go down and meet your prodigy.'

Will, misunderstanding, got between her and the door.

'You're not going down like that,' he said anxiously, with a wave of his hand that included the dressing-jacket and the untidy hair. 'Greybrooke's so particular, and I told him you were a jolly girl.'

'What else did you tell him?' asked Nell suspiciously.