You know, the way love can change a fellow is really frightful to contemplate. This chappie before me, who spoke in that absolutely careless way of macaroons and limado, was the man I had seen in happier days telling the head-waiter at Claridge’s exactly how he wanted the chef to prepare the sole frite au gourmet aux champignons, and saying he would jolly well sling it back if it wasn’t just right. Ghastly! Ghastly!
A roll and butter and a small coffee seemed the only things on the list that hadn’t been specially prepared by the nastier-minded members of the Borgia family for people they had a particular grudge against, so I chose them, and Mabel hopped it.
“Well?” said Bingo rapturously.
I took it that he wanted my opinion of the female poisoner who had just left us.
“Very nice,” I said.
He seemed dissatisfied.
“You don’t think she’s the most wonderful girl you ever saw?” he said wistfully.
“Oh, absolutely!” I said, to appease the blighter. “Where did you meet her?”
“At a subscription dance at Camberwell.”
“What on earth were you doing at a subscription dance at Camberwell?”