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I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. ‘If ever I met such a pair of lunatics!’ ‘Give me that, Hilary,’ Gerald said at once, ignoring his remark and reaching out for the handkerchief. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Ramage. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. “I thought they made knights of actors?” “They may of Hal some day,” said Gwen. He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader.
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