He found a paragraph in the paper—towards the foot of the Society column—and placed his thumb on it.
"This," he said.
"Mayn't I see?" I asked.
He kept his thumb there.
"Yes, and her mother will have something to say to it too," he went on, "and"—he chuckled richly—"my mother too. The idea!"
"Mayn't I see it?" I asked again.
"As if nobody in this world mattered but toffs," he said. "Perhaps they did once; but they're not going to for ever, I can tell you."
"You're a Socialist?" I suggested.
"No, I'm not," he said. "I don't hold with Socialism. But I'm sure after this war's over toffs aren't going to be quite everything that they were before it began.
"The cheek of it!" he continued, with another glance at the paper. "Lumme, I'd like to be there when she lets herself go!"