"We think we want to write home now, Doctor," said Frank, "and wish to know if you approve of our doing so to-day."He had become entangled with a lamp-post. There is no other way of describing his predicament. He came to rest with his forehead pressed against the post, and all his efforts to get round it ended in dismal failure. His legs kicked spasmodically and his arms revolved irregularly. There were intermittent explosions, like the back-firing of a petrol engine. The only person who witnessed these peculiar antics was P.C. Hawkins, who had been indulging in a quiet smoke beneath the shelter of a neighbouring archway."But you," entreated Arthur, "what is your life like?"
They looked solemnly at one another for a[Pg 74] long while without even approaching a "stare out."I am afraid I am, sir, she said. But you kindly invited me to go to the luncheon and the opening of the new wing. I have been working ever since.I expect I see your point, she said. I will go.
FORE:The Curate's hands were busy again. "I really am quite at a loss," he murmured.