“But she's a barmaid, and she'll expect me to walk with her, to take her out on Sundays, to go and see her friends. I can't do it. Besides, she's right: I mean to get on. Then she'll stick to me. It's awful!”
“How did it happen?” asked Minikin.
“I don't know,” I replied. “I didn't know I had done it till it was over.”
“Anybody present?”
“Half-a-dozen of them,” I groaned.
The door opened, and Jarman entered; he never troubled to knock anywhere. In place of his usual noisy greeting, he crossed in silence and shook me gravely by the hand.
“Friend of yours?” he asked, indicating Minikin.
I introduced them to each other.
“Proud to meet you,” said Jarman.
“Glad to hear it,” said Minikin. “Don't look as if you'd got much else to be stuck up about.”