"A d—d shame, I call it."
"I would swear that she loves you, Dud."
"Really, I suppose I ought to feel flattered; but, somehow, Manton, I can't get up much enthusiasm over her. She's not exactly my style."
"You're very fastidious, then. Here, come this way through the wood: it's a short cut. I confess my experience has been very much more limited than yours, but I never saw a girl more—"
"A what?" asked Dudley, with a sneer.
"A young lady, then,—more charming, more lovely in every respect, than Miss Moreley."
"Miss who? Moreley? (I believe he has got one of those wandering fits, poor fellow!) Well, Manton, old boy, I won't dispute that for a moment, because—"
"Yet you say that she is not 'your style.'"
"Oh, I must get him home immediately," sighed Dudley inwardly, commiserating his friend.
"She talks of you incessantly, Dud, and only seems happy when I am answering her thousand and one questions about you."