"And how is a man to get
anywhere at this sort of game without talking?"
"You are talking perfectly fluently now."
"Yes, to you. But put me in front of Celia Tennant, and I simply make a
sort of gurgling noise like a sheep with the botts. It kills my chances
stone dead. You know these other men. I can give Claude Mainwaring a
third and beat him. I can give Eustace Brinkley a stroke a hole and
simply trample on his corpse. But when it comes to talking to a girl,
I'm not in their class."
"You must not be diffident."
"But I _am_ diffident. What's the good of saying I mustn't be
diffident when I'm the man who wrote the words and music, when
Diffidence is my middle name and my telegraphic address? I can't help
being diffident."
"Surely you could overcome it?"
"But how? It was in the hope that you might be able to suggest
something that I came round tonight."
And this was where I did the fatal thing. It happened that, just before
I took up "Braid on the Push-Shot," I had been dipping into the current
number of a magazine, and one of the advertisements, I chanced to
remember, might have been framed with a special eye to George's
unfortunate case.
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