"I agree with you."

"I wish you wouldn't. I've a sweet temper, but I can't stand
being agreed with. And I'm so worried about the aasvogel."

Reginald stared dismally at the biscuit-tin, which now
presented an unattractive array of rejected cracknels.

"I believe," he murmured, "if I could find a woman with an
unsatisfied craving for cracknels, I should marry her."

"What is the tragedy of the aasvogel?" asked the Other
sympathetically.

"Oh, simply that there's no rhyme for it. I thought about it
all the time I was dressing--it's dreadfully bad for one to
think whilst one's dressing--and all lunch-time, and I'm
still hung up over it. I feel like those unfortunate
automobilists who achieve an unenviable motoriety by coming
to a hopeless stop with their cars in the most crowded
thoroughfares. I'm afraid I shall have to drop the aasvogel,
and it did give such lovely local colour to the thing."

"Still you've got the heedless hartebeest."

"And quite a decorative bit of moral admonition--when you've
worried the meaning out -


'Cease, War, thy bubbling madness that the wine shares,