“Never thought you were a fool before,” he said severely.
Bruce Carmyle's proud spirit chafed. This sort of interview, which had become a commonplace with his cousin Ginger, was new to him. Hitherto, his actions had received neither criticism nor been subjected to it.
“I'm not a fool.”
“You are a fool. A damn fool,” continued Uncle Donald, specifying more exactly. “Don't like the girl. Never did. Not a nice girl. Didn't like her. Right from the first.”
“Need we discuss this?” said Bruce Carmyle, dropping, as he was apt to do, into the grand manner.
The Head of the Family drank in a layer of moustache and blew it out again.
“Need we discuss it?” he said with asperity. “We're going to discuss it! Whatch think I climbed all these blasted stairs for with my weak heart? Gimme another!”
Mr. Carmyle gave him another.
“'S a bad business,” moaned Uncle Donald, having gone through the movements once more. “Shocking bad business. If your poor father were alive, whatch think he'd say to your tearing across the world after this girl? I'll tell you what he'd say. He'd say... What kind of whisky's this?”
“O'Rafferty Special.”