“Eh?” said Sam absently.
“I said, what do you think?”
“What do I think about what?”
“About Eustace Hignett and Windles.”
“What about them?”
Sir Mallaby regarded him disapprovingly. “I’m hanged if I know what’s the matter with you to-night, Sam. You seem to have unhitched your brain and left it in the umbrella stand. You hadn’t a word to say for yourself all through dinner. You might have been a Trappist monk. And with that delightful girl Miss Bennett, there, too. She must have thought you infernally dull.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s no good being sorry now. The mischief’s done. She has gone away thinking you an idiot. Do you realise,” said Sir Mallaby warmly, “that when she told that extremely funny story about the man who made such a fool of himself on board the ship, you were the only person at the table who was not amused? She must have thought you had no sense of humour!”
Sam rose. “I think I’ll be going,” he said. “Good night!”
A man can bear just so much.