"No, sir. You will understand, very well, in a day or two. Let me conclude, sir. I intended to explain that I married late in life."
"Oh!" Humphrey groaned. "It is like a bad dream. What does it matter to me whether you married late in life or early? Man alive! Will you take a drink—two drinks—to go? There's whisky in the cabinet."
"I say," John Haveril repeated slowly, "that I married late in life. Over forty I was; therefore I've had but small experience of women. But of your mother I must say she's the very best woman that lives—the very best."
Humphrey gasped. "Good Lord!" he cried.
"The best and the tenderest and the most pious."
"Oh! The most pious!"
"And the most beautiful. Pity that she keeps fretting about you."
"Well, it is a pity. Do you mean to say that she sent you—you—you—to tell me—me—me that?"
"Otherwise, naturally a happy nature, full of sunshine, and well-mannered."
Humphrey laughed aloud. "Well, she is well-mannered. That's a good shot."