'But, my dear girl!'
'I wish you wouldn't talk to me as if you were my grandfather.
What were you going to say?'
'Only that we can get married this afternoon if you'll say the word.'
'Oh, don't let us go into all that again! I'm not going to marry on four hundred a year and spend the rest of my life in a pokey little flat on the edge of London. Why can't you make more money?'
'I did have a dash at it, you know. I waylaid old Bodger—Colonel Bodger, on the committee of the club, you know—and suggested over a whisky-and-soda that the management of Brown's would be behaving like sportsmen if they bumped my salary up a bit, and the old boy nearly strangled himself trying to suck down Scotch and laugh at the same time. I give you my word, he nearly expired on the smoking-room floor. When he came to he said that he wished I wouldn't spring my good things on him so suddenly, as he had a weak heart. He said they were only paying me my present salary because they liked me so much. You know, it was decent of the old boy to say that.'
'What is the good of being liked by the men in your club if you won't make any use of it?'
'How do you mean?'
'There are endless things you could do. You could have got Mr Breitstein elected at Brown's if you had liked. They wouldn't have dreamed of blackballing any one proposed by a popular man like you, and Mr Breitstein asked you personally to use your influence—you told me so.'
'But, my dear girl—I mean my darling—Breitstein! He's the limit!
He's the worst bounder in London.'
'He's also one of the richest men in London. He would have done anything for you. And you let him go! You insulted him!'