“This is a bad business, Percival,” observed Pommery after a silence.
“It is a bad business. I am written down a cad, and, by George! I deserve the appellation,” cried Percival, smiting the arm of the chair a severe blow.
“Giving those letters to that ass Minniver was bad form, and I said so.”
“I have got them here. Luckily, Minniver has been down with Bertie Baging for the Ascot week, and, except to old Fladgate, he has never shown them to mortal. Do you know who Devereux turns out to be?”
“Who?”
“The young fellow who so pluckily sat upon the rowdy at the Albion.”
“By Jove!”
“And only fancy, he did not know who Alice Lindsay was until he came to dinner at Curzen Street.”
“By Jove!” repeated Jack Pommery.
Impart a piece of startling intelligence to an Englishman, and he will always exclaim, “By Jove!”