He promised the weeping Linda a Pom instead; he said "Hell!" when the macaw interrupted them with raucous screams.

He let pass all sorts of misprints in his article on the Ductless Glands for the _Encyclopaedia Scotica_, he was always losing the thread of his discourse in his lectures at the London Institution and University College; and he spent too much of his valuable time writing hugely long letters on all sorts of subjects to David Williams.
David--or Vivie--replied much more laconically.

In the first place he--she--had had her say in the one big outpouring from which I have quoted so freely; in the second she did not wish to stoke up these fires lest they should become volcanic and break up a happy home and a great career.

She wrote once saying: "If ever you were in trouble of any kind; if Linda should die before me, for example, I would come back to you from the ends of the earth and even if I were legitimately married to the Prince of Monaco; come back and serve you as a drudge, as a butt for your wit, as a sick nurse.

But meantime, Michael, you must play the game." And so after this three months' frenzy was past, he did.