"I've often wondered about you," Mullally went on, unembarrassed by Henry's obvious wish to get away from him.
"Oh, yes," Henry replied, saying to himself, "I wish to God my train would come in!"
"Yes, I've often wondered about you," Mullally went on. "And about Farlow and Graham and Carey. You were great friends, you four, weren't you? I'd have called you 'The Heavenly Twins' only there were four of you, and 'quadruplets' is a difficult word for a nickname, don't you think? I mean to say 'The Heavenly Quadruplets' doesn't sound nearly so neat as 'The Heavenly Twins.' It's funnier, of course! What's become of them all? I saw somewhere that Farlow'd written a play, but I didn't see it. I've read one or two of your books, by the way. Quite good, I thought! What did you say'd become of them?"
"Carey's in London ... at the Bar," Henry answered. "I've just been staying with him. He's married!..."
"Dear me! And has he any ... little ones?"
Oh, that was like Mullally! He would be sure to say "little ones" when he meant "children."
"He has a daughter!"
"Oh, indeed! He must be very gratified. And Farlow and Graham, how are they, and what are they doing?"
"Farlow's in Gallipoli and Graham's in France!..."
"Oh, this dreadful war," Mullally exclaimed, wrinkling his features. "I'm greatly opposed to it. I've been addressing meetings on the subject!"