"Yes, sir; do you?"
Soames smiled faintly. "You see," resumed Mont, twiddling his straw hat, while his hair, ears, eyebrows, all seemed to stand up from excitement, "when you've been through the War you can't help being in a hurry."
"To get married; and unmarried afterwards," said Soames slowly.
"Not from Fleur, sir. Imagine, if you were me!"
Soames cleared his throat. That way of putting it was forcible enough.
"Fleur's too young," he said.
"Oh! no, sir. We're awfully old nowadays. My dad seems to me a perfect babe; his thinking apparatus hasn't turned a hair. But he's a Baronight, of course; that keeps him back."
"Baronight," repeated Soames; "what may that be?"
"Bart, sir. I shall be a Bart some day. But I shall live it down, you know."
"Go away and live this down," said Soames.