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"You do do some damn funny things, Quinny!" said Gilbert, going to the sideboard and getting out the whisky. "Here, have a drop of this stuff. You look completely pipped!" "I don't think I should make a habit of knight-errantry, if I were you," said Roger. "Not in slums at all events!" "Has Ninian come back yet?" Henry asked, sipping the whisky. "He's gone to bed.
"Good-bye, Quinny!" Gilbert said at Templecombe. "Good-bye, Gilbert!" Henry answered in a low tone. "I suppose you'll write to me some day?" "I suppose so. Yes, of course!..." "Ripping day, isn't it? Shame to be wasting it in a blooming train!" "Yes!" He wished that the train would break down so that he need not part from Gilbert yet, but while he was wishing, it began to move.
"But can you enjoy things if they're not worth dying for, Quinny? If England weren't worthy dying for, would it be worth living in! That's how I feel!" "That's how I think, Mary, but it isn't how I feel.
"You're glad, aren't you, that I kidnapped you, Quinny?" "In a way, yes!" "You got on with your book, anyhow. You'd never have done that if you'd stayed in town, trailing after Cecily!" "I can't quite make you out, Gilbert," Henry said, turning to his friend. "Are you in love with Cecily?" Gilbert nodded his head. "Of course, I am, but what's the good?
There'd be a procession of priests in golden chasubles, and acolytes swinging carved censers, and boys with banners, and hidden choirs chanting long litanies...." "I shall be sick in a minute!" said Gilbert. "You're talking like an over-ripe Oscar Wilde, Quinny, and if you were really that sort of animal I'd have you hoofed out of this. Get out the whisky, Ninian, for the love of the Lordy God!
Roger wouldn't believe me when I told him about it afterwards. He said I was drunk myself and that he heard me tumbling up the stairs to bed. Which is a lie. I did see it, and it was drunk. I heard it hiccough! I wouldn't say it was drunk if it wasn't. De mortuis nil nisi bonum, Quinny, and it would be a very dirty trick to slander a poor bogey that can't defend itself.
Graham to cry out with pain. "Mary!" he said to her under his breath. "Yes, Quinny," she answered, turning towards him and speaking as softly as he had spoken. He fumbled for words. "It's ... it's awfully nice to see you again," he said. "It's nice to see you all again," she replied. "You're ... you're so different," he went on.
And I'd put all the boys in the Navy, and I'd make cooks out of the girls ... cooks, Quinny, not food-murderers, and I'd call the first boy Michael John, and the second boy Patrick James and the third boy Peter William and the fourth boy Roger Henry Gilbert Ninian...." "And what would you call the girls?" "Wait a minute! I haven't done with the boys yet. And I'd call the fifth boy Matthew.
"It isn't any good," Gilbert remarked, when Garvin had gone home, "trying to persuade the English to spread their wings. They haven't got any. Garvin 'ud do better if he'd hold a carrot in front of them ... they'd follow that. Quinny," he added, "you ought to ask Garvin for a job on the Observer. They say he can't resist an Irishman!" "I will," Henry replied.
They stood there, holding the telegram still unopened, as if they could not make a decision.... "Open it, Quinny!" Mary said at last, and he opened the buff envelope and took out the form. The Secretary for War regretted!... He looked up from the telegram, and saw that Mary was standing in a strained attitude, waiting for him to speak. "Is it ... is it that?" she said, almost in a whisper.
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