As George turned, Reggie's pleasant face, pink with healthful
exercise and Lord Marshmoreton's finest Bollinger, lost most of its
colour. His eyes and mouth opened wider. The fact is Reggie was
shaken. All through the earlier part of the evening he had been
sedulously priming himself with stimulants with a view to amassing
enough nerve to propose to Alice Faraday: and, now that he had
drawn her away from the throng to this secluded nook and was about
to put his fortune to the test, a horrible fear swept over him that
he had overdone it. He was having optical illusions.
"Good God!"
Reggie loosened his collar, and pulled himself together.
"Would you mind taking a glass of lemonade to the lady in blue
sitting on the settee over there by the statue," he said carefully.
He brightened up a little.
"Pretty good that! Not absolutely a test sentence, perhaps, like
'Truly rural' or 'The intricacies of the British Constitution'.
But nevertheless no mean feat."
"I say!" he continued, after a pause.
"Sir?"
"You haven't ever seen me before by any chance, if you know what I
mean, have you?"
"No, sir."
"You haven't a brother, or anything of that shape or order, have
you, no?"
"No, sir.
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