'I was engaged to his daughter for a week or two,' I said, in a hushed voice. The memory of that narrow squeak always made me feel faint.
'Has he a daughter?' said Biffy absently.
'He has. Let me tell you all about—'
'Not just now, old man,' said Biffy, getting up. 'I ought to be going back to my hotel to see about my packing.'
Which, after I had listened to his story, struck me as pretty low-down. However, the longer you live, the more you realize that the good old sporting spirit of give-and-take has practically died out in our midst. So I boosted him into a cab and went off to lunch.
It can't have been more than ten days after this that I received a nasty shock while getting outside my morning tea and toast. The English papers had arrived, and Jeeves was just drifting out of the room after depositing The Times by my bedside, when, as I idly turned the pages in search of the sporting section, a paragraph leaped out and hit me squarely in the eyeball.
As follows:—
FORTHCOMING MARRIAGES
MR C. E. BIFFEN AND MISS GLOSSOP