Cupid said he was miserable. Everybody up there bullied him, and he couldn’t hit anything nowadays with his bow and arrows.
“Jack it up then, and come to our school,” said Magnus, slapping him on the back. “Lots of larks there. You can wear Etons and a topper, and chum in our study—can’t he, Joe?”
“Yes, if he likes to do his share of the fagging,” said Joe.
“I don’t much mind what I do, as long as I get away from this lot.”
“All serene; come down with us. We’re hanging out at Llandudno for the holidays. My mater will take you in, I’m certain.”
“Ah, yes, and by the way,” said Joe, once more making a brilliant dive into his classics, “there’s a friend of yours, you know, called what’s-her-name, only a few doors off. Isn’t there, Magnus?”
“Rather!” said Magnus, who had not a notion what was being referred to.
“You don’t mean to say Psyche—”
“That’s her—the very article; rather a wonner, too. Magnus is spoons on her, you know,” added Joe, with a wink at his friend; “but he’ll back out for you.”
“Oh,” said Magnus, blushing, “it don’t matter to me. Besides, she’s going to-morrow.”