I don't quite know what he meant--but at any rate they were not eatable when they arrived.

Poor fellow!" She sighed again.

"If only I knew what was the matter with him." "It can't be much," I reassured her, "or you would have heard again.
And this news will act like a sovereign remedy." She patted the back of my hand with her plump palm.

"You're always so sympathetic and comforting." "I'm an old soldier, like Leonard," said I, "and never meet trouble halfway." At lunch, the old lady insisted on opening a bottle of champagne, a Veuve Clicquot which Leonard loved, in honour of the glorious occasion.
We could not drink to the hero's health in any meaner vintage, although she swore that a teaspoonful meant death to her, and I protested that a confession of champagne to my medical adviser meant a dog's rating.

We each, conscience-bound, put up the tips of our fingers to the glasses as soon as Mary had filled them with froth, and solemnly drank the toast in the eighth of an inch residuum.