"Did it?" Ogilvy considered, head on one side. "Did it sound anything like a—h'm!—a man who was trying to—h'm!—to tell you that he was going to—h'm!—to try to get somebody to try to let him try to tell her that he wanted to—marry her?"
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Neville, bewildered, "what do you mean?"
Ogilvy pirouetted, picked up a mahl-stick, and began a lively fencing bout with an imaginary adversary.
"I'm going to get married," he said amiably.
"What!"
"Sure."
"To whom?"
"To Hélène d'Enver. Only she doesn't know it yet."
"What an infernal idiot you are, Sam!"
"Ya-as, so they say. Some say I'm an ass, others a bally idiot, others merely refer to me as imbecile. And so it goes, Kelly,—so it goes."