However, De Vere came in first. He held Penelope's hand no longer than a poet should, as poets naturally hold girls' hands rather longer than other people.
"You are looking really well, Mr. de Vere," said Penelope, when she was free.
"I am well," said the poet, "exceedingly well in a way. My dear lady of the beautiful garden, I owe all that to you. At first I was afraid of Captain Goby. I told Lord Bradstock so the other day. I'm afraid I left him under a false impression as to my feelings to Goby, by the way. I'm quite proud of Goby. He says I am really a powerful man, and he made me row till I was worn out. And then he insisted that I should use Sandow's exerciser. I own I did it with reluctance. I pointed out to Goby that I did not wish to look like Mr. Sandow. Goby always stopped by the posters in which Mr. Sandow is lifting ten tons or so, and pointed out certain muscles to me as ideals. I was recalcitrant, for, although I admire Mr. Sandow immensely, I think muscle can be overdone. However, I used the machine, which is ingenious and elastic, and only dangerous if the hook comes out of the wall, and I've found I rather like it. I should miss it now. I think it imparts a certain vigour to verse, if not overdone. Oh—"
For in came Bob. He rushed at Pen and kissed her hair, and then bounced at the poet.
"I say is it true the bulldog bit you? I saw Goby yesterday in the park, and he said so," asked Bob, in great excitement.
"It is true," said the poet.
Penelope shook her head at the late owner of the dog.
"Oh, Bob! Mr. de Vere, I'm very sorry."
"So was I," said De Vere.
"Where did he bite you?" asked Bob, anxiously. "Was it the arm or the leg? And did he hang on like a proper bulldog? Baker says that if a bulldog once gets hold, you have to use a red-hot poker to make him let go. Did you use a red-hot poker?"