“You thought that was a very ingenious idea of mine to make her hold her tongue.”
“There are finer things in this world, sir, than ingenuity,” said the Major. “What your ingenuity has led to is this public ridicule. You may not mind that yourself—you may be used to it—but a man should regard the consequences of his act on others.... My status in Tilling is completely changed. Changed for the worse, sir.”
Puffin emitted his fluty, disagreeable laugh.
“If your status in Tilling depended on a reputation for bloodthirsty bravery,” he said, “the sooner it was changed the better. We’re in the same boat: I don’t say I like the boat, but there we are. Have a drink, and you’ll feel better. Never mind your status.”
“I’ve a good mind never to have a drink again,” said the Major, pouring himself out one of his stiff little glasses, “if a drink leads to this sort of thing.”
“But it didn’t,” said Puffin. “How it all got out, I can’t say, nor for that matter can you. If it hadn’t been for me last night, it would have been all over Tilling that you and I were tipsy as well. That wouldn’t have improved our status that I can see.”
“It was in consequence of what you said to Mapp—” began the Major.
“But, good Lord, where’s the connection?” asked Puffin. “Produce the connection! Let’s have a look at the connection! There ain’t any connection! Duelling wasn’t as much as mentioned last night.”
Major Flint pondered this in gloomy, sipping silence.
“Bridge-party at Mrs. Poppit’s the day after to-morrow,” he said. “I don’t feel as if I could face it. Suppose they all go on making allusions to duelling and early trains and that? I shan’t be able to keep my mind on the cards
