Could intentions be simpler or more honourable or more praiseworthy?
I find myself, after two or three weeks, the lady's warm personal friend, to a certain extent her champion bound by a quixotic oath to restore her husband to her arms, and regarding my poor Dale with a feeling which is neither more nor less than green-eyed jealousy.

I am praying heaven to grant his adoption by the Wymington committee, not because it will be the first step of the ladder of his career, but because the work and excitement of a Parliamentary election will prohibit overmuch lounging in _my_ chair in Lola Brandt's drawing-room.
Is there any drug I wonder which can restore a eumoirous tone to the system?
Of course, Dale came round to my chambers in the evening and talked about Lola and himself and me until I sent him home to bed.

He kept on repeating at intervals that I was glorious.

I grew tired at last of the eulogy, and, adopting his vernacular, declared that I should be jolly glad to get out of this rubbishy world.

He protested.