The 'Greek god' type, which fluttered our grandmothers, lacks sufficient kick for the Neo-georgian maid. His hair was perhaps a shade too long for male taste, though women seem in this to be more lenient. That people, on first acquaintance, were apt to take him for an American was possibly due to his faint Irish intonation, and he was so wonderfully sure, so well poised, and so preposterously good looking.
During the war he served in the Air Force. When peace returned, a rich uncle's death saved him from the horrors of work. Wealth was added to charm, wit, good looks—unless vows matter, can you blame Norah so much?
'Marriage laws are drafted by the old,' he had just said, to calm some scruple, 'to be broken by the young.'
'Dick, don't be so Wilde!' she retorted. This isn't the setting. Look at the Lake....'
'I'd rather look at the woman!'
'Don't be an ass. The woman's there any day, Tanganyika——'
'I can't believe yet she will be. I'm afraid of waking up.'
'I feel I've dreamt away my life till now: I've only just woken up. Woken up from a bad dream about Africa.'
'Africa is nearly over. Two days up the Lake to the railway, then——'
'Do you so badly want the time to hurry?'