“You won't have any trouble with our late hostess, by the way. Though
she knows all about it.”
“She knows?”
Oliver couldn't resist.
“And quite approves. But she's--a sport.” Then for Ted's sake, “Besides,
you see, it would crab her game completely.”
“I'll tell Elinor, though,” said Ted, stubbornly.
“About her father? You can't.”
“Oh, Lord, no. About myself. Don't have to give names and addresses.”
“Afterwards.”
“Well, yes--afterwards. Though it makes me feel like a swine.”
“Nobody our age who hasn't been one or felt like one--some of the
time--except Christers and the dead,” said Oliver, and they proceeded
for several minutes on the profundity of that aphorism. The silence was
broken by Ted's saying violently,
“I _will_ marry her! I don't give a damn what's happened.”
“Good egg. Of course you will.” Oliver chuckled.
Ted turned to him anxiously after another silence.
“Look Ollie, that bump on my head--you've seen the size it is. Well, is
it going to just show up like _thunder_ at this silly dance?”