Bingo plunged about the room.
“I will be calm!” he said, knocking over an occasional table. “Calm, dammit!” He upset a chair.
“Surely nothing has gone wrong?”
Bingo uttered one of those hollow, mirthless yelps.
“Only every bally thing that could go wrong. What do you think happened after you left us? You know that beastly book you insisted on sending my uncle?”
It wasn’t the way I should have put it myself, but I saw the poor old bean was upset for some reason or other, so I didn’t correct him.
“‘The Woman Who Braved All’?” I said. “It came in dashed useful. It was by quoting bits out of it that I managed to talk him round.”
“Well, it didn’t come in useful when we got into the room. It was lying on the table, and after we had started to chat a bit and everything was going along nicely the little woman spotted it. ‘Oh, have you read this, Lord Bittlesham?’ she said. ‘Three times already,’ said my uncle. ‘I’m so glad,’ said the little woman. ‘Why, are you also an admirer of Rosie M. Banks?’ asked the old boy, beaming. ‘I am Rosie M. Banks!’ said the little woman.”
“Oh, my aunt! Not really?”
“Yes.”