“Oh no, you haven't. What harm have you done? It's all right for you to think small beer of yourself, and I don't see how you could think anything else just at present. But you wait awhile. When did it happen?”
Mavering took out his watch. “One day, one hour, twenty minutes, and fifteen seconds ago.”
“Sure about the seconds? I suppose you didn't hang round a great while afterward?”
“Well, people don't, generally,” said Mavering, with scorn.
“Never tried it,” said Boardman, looking critically at his fried potatoes before venturing upon them. “If you had stayed, perhaps she might have changed her mind,” he added, as if encouraged to this hopeful view by the result of his scrutiny.
“Where did you get your fraudulent reputation for common-sense, Boardman?” retorted Mavering, who had followed his examination of the potatoes with involuntary interest. “She won't change her mind; she isn't one of that kind. But she's the one woman in this world who could have made a man of me, Boardman.”
“Is that so?” asked Boardman lightly. “Well, she is a good-looking girl.”
“She's divine!”
“What a dress that was she had on Class Day!”
“I never think what she has on. She makes everything perfect, and then makes you forget it.”