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“I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. She was silent. Jackson, gallantly. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom he found at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged. And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major. The gentlemen are so particular now, and a good thing too, I say.
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