“That is the very thing W. W. and she bickered about in their letters. He was always writing to her to do that, but she said it would be unladylike.”
“Very un-shingled of her to trouble about that,” I got in. “But had she any proposal to make to W. W.?”
“Rather. She was always badgering W. W. to write to their mother saying they knew all and wanted her to go at it blind. She thought it would come better from him, being male. That was what made him come to me in the end. He told me all about it and asked me if I could help.”
“And what was your reply?” I asked with some interest. “Don’t tell me,” I added hurriedly (we were back at the game, you see), “I want to guess. You said immediately, ‘All right’?”
He approved.
“Did it ever strike you,” I enquired curiously, “that you might not be able to help?”
“I can’t remember,” the unfathomable one answered. “I say, would you like to see me do a dive over your head?”
Offer declined.
“You see,” he continued, “W. W. is rather—rather——”
“Rather a retiring boy when there is trouble ahead,” I suggested. “Well, what did you devise?”