"You will hold the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand!" he groans. "No, do not go" (with a sudden and startling change of tone, springing off the bed, as he becomes aware that his friend is making for the door, unable to bear those rhapsodies, whose full distastefulness to their hearer the utterer little conjectures). "I'll tell you! I'll explain. Why are you in such a deuce of a hurry? I cannot go to Certosa because I have just heard from my mother that she is to arrive to-day. She will be here in another hour."
Jim's fingers are already on the door handle, but this piece of news arrests him.
"Your mother? I did not know that she was coming abroad."
"No more did I!"
"It must have been a very sudden thought!"
"Very!"
"What a delightful surprise for you!"
"Delightful!" There is so ludicrous a discrepancy between the adjective and the accent with which it is rendered that Jim bursts into a bitter laugh.
"She would be flattered if she could see your elation at the prospect of meeting her!"
Byng's blood rushes up under his clear smooth skin at his friend's jeer, but he answers, with some dignity: