“Hit what off?”
“I mean aren’t you dead on her, don’t you know?—spoons, and all that sort of thing?”
“I am not aware that I entertain feelings towards anybody which could be described by any article of cutlery at all.”
“Well, all I can say is, when I blowed her up for being down on you, she blushed up no end, and cried too. I should like to know what you call that, if it isn’t spoons?”
“I think it would be kinder, Percy, if you did not talk to your cousin about me; and I fancy she would as soon you did not talk about her to me.”
“Well, that’s rather what I should call a shut-up,” said Percy. “It bothers me how people that like one another get so precious shy of letting the other fellow know it. I know I shan’t. I’ll have it out at once, before any other chap comes and cuts me out.”
With which valiant determination Percy earned Jeffreys’ gratitude by relapsing into silence.
He was, however, destined to have the uncomfortable topic revived in another and more unexpected quarter.
On the day before Scarfe’s proposed visit, Walker accosted him as he was going out, with the announcement that my lady would like to speak to him in the morning-room.
This rare summons never failed to wring a groan from the depths of the librarian’s spirit, and it did now as he proceeded to the torture-chamber.