nothing to which he could look forward, no gleam of hope and, as it
turned out, no appetite for breakfast. Seated at table, he proved
infectiously depressing and gloomily silent. On the way to the
Underground, Sandy Larcher, who happened to be in exuberant spirits,
noticed his cousin's grave face and chaffed him about Cossie. (Sandy,
a coarse-grained creature, knew no reserves, did not profess to be a
gentleman, and had never heard of the word "tact.")

"And so you couldn't sleep for thinking of her, eh? Ate no breakfast,
only a bit of toast, and half a kipper; quite in a bad way, poor old
chap."

"Come now, Sandy, none of that!" angrily protested the victim. "You
are a sensible fellow, though you do play the ass; and must know as
well as I do myself that you are talking through your hat. I swear on
my word of honour, I have never made love to Cossie, I'd as soon think
of making love to the parrot next door, and I have not the remotest
idea of marrying her. Imagine marrying on a hundred and fifty pounds a
year!"

"Oh well, I couldn't face it myself, old man," generously conceded his
companion, "but the mater and the girls are dead nuts on the idea; they
are awfully fond of you, and say you are so mortal clever, so well-bred
and such top-hole style, that you are bound to rise in the world; and
Cossie is getting rather long in the tooth. Of course, I know as well
as if you told me, how she rushes a chap, and writes silly notes,
manicures his nails, and gives him flowers and cigarettes. She overdid
it with Freddy Soames and got the knock; and now he is formally
engaged, I expect she is mad keen to show that two can play at that
game!"