WENTWORTH. Personally I am very fond of Bob.

TOMMY. Oh, so am I. He's an absolute ripper. Still, _Gerald_, you
know--I mean it's jolly bad luck on poor old Bob. Now Paderewski
and I--

[Enter GERALD from the garden, a charming figure in a golfing coat
and white flannels. Perhaps he is a little conscious of his charm;
if so, it is hardly his fault, for hero-worship has been his lot
from boyhood. He is now about twenty-six; everything that he has
ever tried to do he has done well; and, if he is rather more
unembarrassed than most of us when praised, his unself-consciousness
is to a stranger as charming as the rest of him. With it all he is
intensely reserved, with the result that those who refuse to
succumb to his charm sometimes make the mistake of thinking that
there is nothing behind it.]

GERALD. Hallo, Wentworth, how are you? All right?

WENTWORTH (getting up and shaking hands). Yes, thanks. How are you?

GERALD. Simply bursting. Have you seen your room and all that sort
of thing?

WENTWORTH. Yes, thanks.

GERALD. Good. And Tommy's been entertaining you. (To TOMMY) Tommy,
I interrupted your story about Paderewski. I don't think I know it.
(To WENTWORTH) You must listen to this; it may be fairly new.