"Ah, nothing serious, I hope?" drawled Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys.

"Serious, ha, ha! Haven't you heard--"

"Sam, dear!" expostulated Mrs. Buzza.

"All right, mother. He can't hear," and Sam plunged into the story.

The ice was broken. In a few moments a whist party was made up to
include the Honourable Frederic, and Miss Limpenny breathed more
freely. Mr. Moggridge was led up by Sam, and introduced.

"Ah, indeed! Mr. Moggridge, I have been so longing to know you."

Sam looked a trifle vexed. The poet simpered that he was happy.

"Of course I have been reading 'Ivy Leaves.' So mournful I thought
them, yet somehow so attractive. How _did_ you write it all?"

Mr. Moggridge confessed amiably that he "didn't quite know."

"Let me see; those lines beginning--"

'O give me wings to--to--'

"I forget for the moment how it goes on."

"'To fly away,'" suggested the bard.