I've thought of it more than once lately."
"Perhaps by that time," Lord Arranmore said, "the woman whom you wanted
to marry wouldn't have you."
Hennibul looked serious for a moment. A new idea had occurred to him.
"One must take one's chances!" he said.
"You are a philosopher," Arranmore declared. "Will you have some
tea--or a whisky-and-soda?"
"Neither, thanks. In an abortive attempt to preserve my youth I neither
take tea nor drinks between meals. I will have one of your excellent
cigarettes and get round to the club. Why, this is Enton over again,
for here comes Molyneux."
The Hon. Sydney Molyneux shook hands with both of them in somewhat
dreary fashion, and embarked upon a few disjointed remarks. Hennibul
took his leave, and Arranmore yawned openly.
"What is the matter with you, Sydney?" he asked. "You are duller than
ever. I am positively not going to sit here and mumble about the
weather. How are the Carooms? Have you heard from them lately?"
"They are up in Yorkshire," Molyneux announced, "staying with the
Pryce-Powells. I believe they're all right.
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