the fact that Horace and Johnny swaggered along the King's Parade in a way that Eton and Oxford never do—do they?—and that you would hardly have cared to accept their invitation to cross the road and 'ave a drink at the good old Magnificent—at least, not when the wife was with you—they were really modest men at heart, as most men are if they ever attain to reasonable eminence in their particular walk of life.
"Fancy you marrying a Toff!" Horace Allwright had whispered to Mary over his beer.
"Why shouldn't one, pray?" was the rejoinder of the future Lady Shelmerdine of Potterhanworth.
"You are right—why not?" said Horace. "Because, after all, you are a Toff yourself."
And in the middle of the King's Parade the famous comedian reaffirmed the conviction.
"And he's not a bad chap either, considerin'," said Horace. "Damn good snooker, anyhow, and the best inside right that ever kicked a ball, except Steve Bloomer, and we'll go and see him play to-morrow."
"What do you think?" said Johnny Dubosque expansively, laying siege to a nursemaid—and a pretty one, too, in a very smart bonnet.
This is all quite trivial and doesn't really help the narrative, but the point we wish to make is, that our friend Philip had not exactly wasted his morning, whatever may be the views of parents and guardians upon
