"I'll see you right home," said Rokeby.
"And you'll come in, and have a drink."
"Thanks. Perhaps I will. Haven't you got a trousseau to show me?"
"Get out, you fool!"
"What do chaps feel like, I wonder," said Rokeby, "when the day of judgment is so near?"
"I shan't tell you, you damned scoffer!"
"Well, well," said Rokeby, "I've seen lots of nice fellows go under this same way. It always makes me very sorry. I do all I can in the way of preventive measures, but it's never any good, and there's no cure. Ab-so-lutely none. There's no real luck in the business, either, as far as I've seen, though of course some are luckier than others."
"Did you mention luck?" Osborn exclaimed, from his dream. "Don't you think I'm lucky? I say, Desmond, old thing, don't you think I'm one of the most astonishingly lucky fellows on God's earth?"
"You ought to know."
"Oh, come off that silly pedestal of pretence. Cynicism's rotten. Marriage is the only life."