Why should he be tearing about aimlessly on a motor bicycle this May morning when he ought to be in France?
"I wish you agreed with me all along the line," said I.
He found a little iron garden seat and sat down by my side.
"I don't want to enter into controversial questions," he said.
Confound him! He might have been fifty instead of four-and-twenty.
Controversial questions! His assured young Oxford voice irritated me.
"What do you want to enter into ?" I asked.
"A question of honour," he answered calmly.

"I have been wanting to speak to you, but I didn't like to.

Passing you by, just now, I made a sudden resolution.

You have thought badly of me on account of my attitude towards Phyllis Gedge.

I want to tell you that you were quite right.