'What on earth are you doing in Paris?' I asked.
'Bertie, old man,' said Biffy solemnly, 'I came here to try and forget.'
'Well, you've certainly succeeded.'
'You don't understand. The fact is, Bertie, old lad, my heart is broken. I'll tell you the whole story.'
'No, I say!' I protested. But he was off.
'Last year,' said Biffy, 'I buzzed over to Canada to do a bit of salmon fishing.'
I ordered another. If this was going to be a fish-story, I needed stimulants.
'On the liner going to New York I met a girl.' Biffy made a sort of curious gulping noise not unlike a bulldog trying to swallow half a cutlet in a hurry so as to be ready for the other half. 'Bertie, old man, I can't describe her. I simply can't describe her.'
This was all to the good.
'She was wonderful! We used to walk on the boat-deck after dinner. She was on the stage. At least, sort of.'