"Robin must not go to India."
Sam instantly went by the shortest conceivable route to London, where he
found Robin in his room feverishly packing his portmanteau, and said--
"Robin, you must not go to India."
From that text he preached an eloquent lay-sermon, which he wound up
with the words, "Now, my boy, you must just propose to her at once."
"But I can't, Sam. I haven't got the pluck. I'm such a miserable sort
of fellow--how could I expect _such_ a creature to throw herself away on
_me_? Besides, it's all very well your saying you have good ground for
believing she cares for me; but how can you know? Of course you have
not dared to speak to her?"
Robin looked actually fierce at the bare idea of such a thing.
"No, I have not dared," said Sam.
"Well, then. It is merely your good-natured fancy. No, my dear fellow,
it is my fate. I must bow to it. And I know that if I were to wait
till I see her again, all my courage would have oozed away--"
"But I don't intend that you shall wait, Robin," interrupted Sam. "You
need not go on talking so selfishly about yourself. You must consider
the girl. I'm not going to stand by and see injustice done to _her_.
You have paid _marked_ attention to her, and are bound in honour to lay
yourself at her feet, even at the risk of a refusal."
"But how, Sam? I tell you if I wait--"
"Then don't wait,--telegraph."
Robin gazed at his friend in stupefied amazement. "What! make a
proposal of marriage by telegraph?"
"Even so, Robin. You began life with electricity, so it is quite in
keeping that you should begin a new departure in life with it."
Sam rose, sought for paper, and with pencil wrote as follows:--"From Mr
R. Wright, London, to Miss Letta Langley, --- Hotel, Oban.--I can stand
it no longer. May I come to see you?"