“Heavens!” cried he. “Isn't that enough?”
“An engagement isn't an occupation.”
“Isn't it, by Jove?” He laughed boyishly. “I manage, however, to squeeze in a bit of work now and then. The mater has always got plenty on hand for me, and I do things for Raggles. He has been awfully decent. The first time I met him or any of the chiefs after the election I was in a blue funk. But no one seemed to blame me; they all said they were sorry; and now Raggles is looking out for a constituency for me to nurse for the next General Election. Then things will hum, I promise you!”
He waved his cigar with the air of a young paladin about to conquer the world. In spite of my own depression, I could not help smiling with gladness at the sight of him. With his extravagantly cut waistcoat, his elaborately exquisite white tie, his perfectly fitting evening clothes, with his supple ease of body, his charming manner, the preposterous fellow made as gallant a show as any ruffling blade in powder and red-heeled shoes. He had acquired, too, an extra touch of manhood since I had seen him last. I felt proud of him, conscious that to the making of him I had to some small degree contributed.
“You must come out and lunch with Maisie and me one day this week,” said he. “She would love to see you.”
“Wait till you're married,” said I, “and then we'll consider it. At present Maisie is under the social dominion of her parents.”
“Well—what of it?”
“Just that,” said I.
Then the truth dawned on him. He grew excited and said it was damnable. He wasn't going to stand by and see people believe a lot of scandalous lies about me. He had no idea people had given me the cold shoulder. He would jolly well (such were his words) take a something (I forget the adjective) megaphone and trumpet about society what a splendid fellow I was.
“I'll tell everybody the whole silly-ass story about myself from beginning to end,” he declared.