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Updated: June 10, 2025
"So am I, but I don't feel like setting up house again. I'm certain you'd go and get married the moment we'd settled into a place...." "I'm not a marrying man, Gilbert," Henry interrupted. "Well, what are you, Quinny?" "I don't know!" They were wandering aimlessly along the streets.
Jaurés wrote a book on the French Army ... a very good book, too ... so there isn't anything remarkably novel about the notion, except, perhaps, my idea of linking the military problem on to the unemployment problem. You and Quinny could write the book, Gilbert, because you've got style and we want the book to be written so that people will read it without getting tied up.
Ninian would be sure to chaff him about it.... "Oh, not yet!..." he began, but he was too late. Ninian had come up to them, grumbling, "I thought you two'd started to leg it to Rumpell's...." Mary seized his arm and pressed it tightly. "Quinny and me are going to get married," she said. "Silly asses," said Ninian. "Come on, here's the train in!"
"We ought to have some notion of what we're going to do with our lives.... As a matter of fact," he continued, "your career's fairly certain, Roger. With all that brain oozing out of you, you're bound to become great. But what about little Ninian here? And Quinny? And me? Ninian's a discontented sort of bloke, and he's quite likely to make a mess of things unless we look after him.
It's mean and furtive, and I hate that. You're always listening for some one coming ... a servant or the husband or some one ... and I can't stand that. If I love a woman, I love her, and I don't want to spend part of my life in pretending that I don't. I loathe myself when I have to change the talk suddenly or move away when a door opens.... Do you understand, Quinny?"
He paused for a moment, and then, impetuously, he turned to Roger. "Roger," he said, "do you think I'm ... neurotic? Would you say I'm ... well, degenerate?" "Don't be an ass, Quinny!" "I'm serious, Roger. I'm not just talking about myself, and slopping over!" "You're highly strung, of course, but I shouldn't say you were neurotic. You're healthy enough, aren't you!"
"But we're all prigs," Gilbert said once in reply to some one who sneered at Roger. "Ninian and Quinny and Roger and me, we're frightful prigs. That's because we're so much brainier than most people. Of course, Roger was Second Wrangler, and that affects a man, I suppose, but he's terribly clever, young Roger is!..." As they drove home, Gilbert told their news to Henry.
Shell keep me making love to her when I ought to be working. God damn women, Quinny!" "You're excited, Gilbert!" "Yes, I know I am. When I'm with Cecily, I'm like a jelly-fish. She sucks the brains out of me. She doesn't care whether I finish my comedy or not. She doesn't care what happens to my work so long as I hang around and love her and kiss her whenever she wants me to.
He nodded his head. "It's a madness, this nationality," he said, "but you can't get a cure for it. Even I feel it!" "Quinny!" "Yes, Mary!" There was a nervous note in her voice. She got up, so that she was on her knees, and fingered the lapels of his coat. "Quinny!" she said again, and he waited for her to proceed. "I ... I want us to get married ... soon!
We were kids!..." Mrs. Graham caught the word "engaged." "Who's engaged?" she asked. "No one, mother," Mary answered. "Quinny and I were talking about the time when we were engaged!..." He felt a frightful fool. What on earth had possessed her that she should treat the matter in this fashion? "Were you engaged, dear?" Mrs. Graham said. "Oh, yes, mother. Don't you remember?
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