“Fifty-one and three months.”
“That’s not very old—but it’s too old!”
“For what, sir?”
“I don’t know. But I should like always to be young enough to go courting when summer’s here. Dreadful thing when one loses the inclination to court, isn’t it?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.”
“Then you’re not fifty-one.”
“That was not my meaning.”
“Seems to me, if one can’t go courting oneself one should show the lanes to others. Know any one, Parsons, to whom I could show the lanes? I’d be an awful good guide.”
“I rather fancy, sir, young folk find ’em pretty easy without help.”
“You’re wrong there—they don’t—least some don’t; they stick to the barren moor and the wind-swept places. Not very good tea this morning, Parsons.”