The job was distasteful to me, and I only undertook it because there is
a strain of philanthropy in my nature (though that isn't what the
incompatibles called it). My intervention had no effect, of course.
They are now married--and quite happy--and neither of them will speak
to me any more.
Henry continued to look disturbed. 'If he only knew Gladys,' he said,
'but as things are going at present I'm afraid he'll propose before his
eyes are opened.'
I felt troubled. For a day or two I pondered on the distressing
affair, but I was resolutely determined not to intervene. Then it was
the idea occurred to me. To be frank, it was Elizabeth who actually
inspired it. I was giving orders for dinner and was suggesting apple
turnovers for a sweet, when she blandly remarked, 'Talkin' o'
turnovers, Mr. Roarings is dead gone on that there Miss 'Arringay now,
I 'ear.'
'Your hearing does seem unusually good,' I said coldly. Certainly, I
had never mentioned the subject to any one but Henry. It was a
surprise to discover that I had, at the same time, been mentioning it
to Elizabeth as well.
'Nice wife she'd make him,' continued the irrepressible Elizabeth, 'a
flipperty-flapperty piece o' goods like 'er.'
'We will have cheese straws after the sweet, Elizabeth,' I said in
tones of chill rebuke.
'Right-o, 'm. Well, wot are you goin' to _do_ about it?'
'Do about what?'
'Mr.
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