Vicary whistled, rose, and strolled over to the piano.
"Well, I should advise you to go and have it out with her," he said, twisting himself round on the music-stool. "Come back when it's over, and sparkle up a bit."
"Shut up!" growled his senior.
Vicary shrugged his shoulders and struck a few aimless notes. This sort of timidity was strange to him. In matters relating to the opposite sex his senior was a child compared with that good-looking boy at the piano.
Suddenly Vicary grinned, struck a chord, and broke into a music-hall song, accentuating the twang of Cockayne to exaggeration:
"'O-ownly one gurl—in the world fer me;
O-ownly one gurl—'as my sympathee;
She m'yn't be vairy pritty——'"
"Shakespeare" between the shoulder-blades cut his efforts short. He twisted round, chuckling and rubbing himself.
"'HADN'T WE BETTER—ER—WALK?' SAID WARRINGTON, NERVOUSLY."
"Steady on, old chap! What's up?"