I went on thinking.
"No," I said to myself, "I'm on the wrong tack." So I began again:—
"Some Yorkshire Pot-Holes.
"Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philosophical Society, Tuesday, December 8th.
"My Lord Mayor, my Lords——"
"I don't want to interrupt," said Celia coming in suddenly, "but—oh, what's a pot-hole?"
"A curious underground cavern sometimes found in the North."
"Aren't caverns always underground? But you're busy. Will you be in for lunch?"
"I shall be writing my lecture all day," I said busily.
At lunch I decided to have a little financial talk with Celia.