"Oh, come now! look here, my dear fellow, you're putting it a little too strong. You don't expect me to go there and talk to her about you, you know. Why, man alive, that's quite out of my way. I'm not much of a talker at any time; and besides, you know, there's something distasteful in acting as—as—By Jove! I don't know what to call it."
"My dear boy, you don't understand me. Do you think I'm a sneak? Do you suppose I'd ask you to act as a go-between? Nonsense! I merely ask you to go as a cursory visitor. I don't want you to breathe my name, or even think of me while you are there."
"But suppose I make myself too agreeable to the young lady. By Jove! she might think I was paying her attentions, you know."
"Oh no, no! believe me, you don't know her. She's too earnest; she has too much soul to shift and change. Oh no! I feel that she is mine, and that the image of my own miserable self is indelibly impressed upon her heart. Oh no! you don't know her. If you had heard her thrilling expressions of gratitude, if you had seen the beseeching and pleading looks which she gave me, you would know that she is one of those natures who love once, and once only."
"Oh, by Jove, now! Come! If that's the 'state of the case, why, I'll go."
"Thanks, old boy."
"As a simple visitor."
"Yes—that's all."
"To talk about the weather, and that rot."
"Yes."