"Hold hard.

Do you know you're talking about the future Mrs.Nevill Tyson ?" Stanistreet tried to keep calm, for he was poised on his waist across the edge of the billiard-table.

As it was, he lost his balance at the critical moment, and it ruined his stroke.

He looked at the cloth, then at his cue, with the puzzled air which people generally affect in these circumstances.
"Great Scott!" said he, "how did I manage that ?" The exclamation may or may not have referred to the stroke.
Tyson looked at his friend with a smile which suggested that he expected adverse criticism, and was prepared to deal temperately with it.
"Why not ?" said he.
Stanistreet, however, said nothing.

He was absorbed in chalking the end of his cue.