"He communicated his shyness to myself. I could not think what to say,
and we sat for a while in painful silence.
"'Well,' I said, at last, plunging head-foremost into the matter,
according to the method of shy people, 'and how's 'Liza?'
"'Oh, _she's_ all right,' he replied, keeping his eyes fixed on his hat.
"'Have you done it?' I continued.
"'Done wot?' he asked, looking up.
"'Married her.'
"'No,' he answered, returning to the contemplation of his hat.
"'Has she refused you then?' I said.
"'I ain't arst 'er,' he returned.
"He seemed unwilling to explain matters of his own accord. I had to put
the conversation into the form of a cross-examination.
"'Why not?' I asked; 'don't you think she cares for you any longer?'
"He burst into a harsh laugh. 'There ain't much fear o' that,' he said;
'it's like 'aving an Alcock's porous plaster mashed on yer, blowed if it
ain't. There's no gettin' rid of 'er. I wish she'd giv' somebody else a
turn. I'm fair sick of 'er.'
"'But you were enthusiastic about her a month ago!' I exclaimed in
astonishment.
"'Smythe may 'ave been,' he said; 'there ain't no accounting for that
ninny, 'is 'ead's full of starch. Anyhow, I don't take 'er on while I'm
myself. I'm too jolly fly.'
"'That sort o' gal's all right enough to lark with,' he continued; 'but
yer don't want to marry 'em.
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