"Agnes--before he arrives--you ought never to have left me and
gone to his rooms alone. A most elementary transgression. Imagine
the unpleasantness if you had found him with friends. If Gerald--"

Rickie by now had got into a fluster. At the kitchens he had lost
his head, and when his turn came--he had had to wait--he had
yielded his place to those behind, saying that he didn't matter.
And he had wasted more precious time buying bananas, though he
knew that the Pembrokes were not partial to fruit. Amid much
tardy and chaotic hospitality the meal got under way. All the
spoons and forks were anyhow, for Mrs. Aberdeen's virtues were
not practical. The fish seemed never to have been alive, the meat
had no kick, and the cork of the college claret slid forth silently,
as if ashamed of the contents. Agnes was particularly pleasant. But
her brother could not recover himself. He still remembered their
desolate arrival, and he could feel the waters of the Pem eating
into his instep.

"Rickie," cried the lady, "are you aware that you haven't
congratulated me on my engagement?"

Rickie laughed nervously, and said, "Why no! No more I have."

"Say something pretty, then."

"I hope you'll be very happy," he mumbled. "But I don't know
anything about marriage."

"Oh, you awful boy! Herbert, isn't he just the same? But you do
know something about Gerald, so don't be so chilly and cautious.