.' 'I say, Snob!' Wiggle here interrupted the excited bard (just as I was about to break out into four lines so pathetic that they would drive you into hysterics).

'I say--ahem--couldn't you say that I was--a--military man, and that there was some danger of my life ?' 'You a military man ?--danger of your life?
What the deuce do you mean ?' 'Why,' said Wiggle, blushing a great deal, 'I told her I was going out--on--the--Ecuador--expedition.' 'You abominable young impostor,' I exclaimed.

'Finish the poem for yourself!' And so he did, and entirely out of all metre, and bragged about the work at the Club as his own performance.
Poor Waggle fully believed in his friend's genius, until one day last week he came with a grin on his countenance to the Club, and said, 'Oh, Snob, I've made SUCH a discovery! Going down to the skating to-day, whom should I see but Wiggle walking with that splendid woman--that lady of illustrious family and immense fortune, Mary, you know, whom he wrote the beautiful verses about.

She's five-and-forty.

She's red hair.