"Now," I said, "we must try and keep to the point. What is the least one can start on?"
"I don't know," he replied. "I've never begun. By the way, I must congratulate you. Who is she?"
"Daphne," I said, and smiled wanly.
"You don't look well."
"I love her," I said simply, and the pathos of it all fairly gripped me.
Charles smoothed his hair. "We'd better stick to business," he said.
In an instant I was a business man. "Right," I said crisply. "Let me put the question in another way. What is the least on which one can start?"
"Well, it all depends on what sort of an establishment you wish to keep up. If you—"
"Nothing," I said quickly, "is good enough for Daphne. She's so absolutely sweet. She sings, Charles, divinely. She dresses perfectly. She plays the pianoforte exquisitely. She sings, did I say, divinely."
"Talking of establishments," said Charles—