Osborn was concerned with the set of the new coat over his fine shoulders.
"Breakfast was on the table when I came through," added Rokeby.
"Was it?" replied Osborn absently.
Rokeby took his friend's arm, piloted him with patient firmness into the sitting-room, and pulled out a chair.
Osborn ate and drank spasmodically. Between the spasms he hummed under his breath:
"And—when—I—tell—them,
And I'm certainly going to tell them,
That I'm the man whose wife you're one day going to be,
They'll never believe me—"
Rokeby smoked several cigarettes.