"
All this natural, matter-of-fact simplicity coming from so
artificial a product of Balliol as Randall Holmes, was a bit
upsetting. After a pause, I said:
"If that is so, why don't you marry her?"
"She'll have nothing to do with me."
"Have you asked her?"
"I have, in writing. There's no mistake about it. I'm in earnest."
"I'm exceedingly glad to hear it," said I.
And I was. An honest lover I can understand, and a Don Juan I can
understand. But the tepid philanderer has always made my toes
tingle. And I was glad, too, to hear that little Phyllis Gedge had
so much dignity and commonsense. Not many small builders'
daughters would have sent packing a brilliant young gentleman like
Randall Holmes, especially if they happened to be in love with
him. As I did not particularly wish to be the confidant of this
love-lorn shepherd, I said nothing more. Randall lit a cigarette.
"I hope I'm not boring you," he said.
"Not a bit."
"Well--what complicates the matter is that her father's the most
infernal swine unhung." I started, remembering what Betty had told
me.
"I thought," said I, "that you were fast friends."
"Who told you so?" he asked.
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