“I say, by Jove! Why, we’re always meeting!”
A tramp on the bench close by stirred uneasily in his sleep as the gurgling laughter ripped the air.
“Been looking at the water?” inquired Lord Dreever. “I have. I often do. Don’t you think it sort of makes a chap feel—oh, you know. Sort of—I don’t know how to put it.”
“Mushy?” said Jimmy.
“I was going to say poetical. Suppose there’s a girl——”
He paused and looked down at the water. Jimmy was with him there. There was a girl.
“I saw my party off in a taxi,” continued Lord Dreever, “and came down here for a smoke. Only I hadn’t a match. Have you?”
Jimmy handed over his match-box. Lord Dreever lit a cigar, and fixed his gaze once more on the river.
“Ripping it looks,” he said.
Jimmy nodded.