"And I'm not quarrelling with fate."
"No?"
"No," said Hamilton Beamish. "Fancy it being you!"
"Fancy who being me?"
"Fancy you being you." It occurred to him that he was not making himself quite clear. "I mean, I was sent here with a message for Madame Eulalie, and she turns out to be you."
"A message? Who from?"
"From whom?" corrected Hamilton Beamish. Even in the grip of love, a specialist on Pure English remains a specialist on Pure English.
"That's what I said—Who from?"
Hamilton Beamish smiled an indulgent smile. These little mistakes could be corrected later—possibly on the honeymoon.
"From Molly Waddington. She asked me to...."