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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
128
But
to
continue:
the
receipt
of
so
unexpected
an
invitation
from
so
glorious
a
young
gentleman
at
first
gave
me
palpitation
of
the
heart.
I
was
so
surprised
that
I
scarcely
had
enough
presence
of
mind
to
listen
to
the
rest
of
his
remarks
and
later,
it
was
only
with
the
greatest
difficulty
that
I
could
recall
the
place
where
we
arranged
to
meet.
His
remarks,
too,
are
not
easy
to
follow,
as
he
talks
in
a
stenographic,
Alfred-Jingle-like
manner,
jerking
out
disjected
members
of
sentences,
and
leaving
you
to
make
the
best
of
them
or
else
to
Hell
with
you--by
the
Lord,
I
speak
English,
don't
I?
If
I
said,
"I
beg
your
pardon,"
he
jerked
again,
and
left
me
often
equally
unenlightened.
On
arriving
at
his
home,
the
first
thing
he
did
was
to
shout
down
the
stairs
to
the
basement:
"Elsie,
Elsie,"
while
I
gazed
with
awe
at
a
parcel
on
the
hall
table
addressed
to
"Lord
----."
Before
lunch
we
sat
in
his
little
room
and
talked
about
----,
but
I
was
still
quite
unable
to
regain
my
self-composure.
I
couldn't
for
the
life
of
me
forget
that
here
was
I
lunching
with
Lord
----'s
son,
on
equal
terms,
with
mutual
interests,
that
his
sisters
perhaps
would
come
in
directly
or
even
the
noble
Lord
himself.
I
felt
like
a
scared
hare.
How
should
I
address
a
peer
of
the
realm?
I
kept
trying
to
remember
and
every
now
and
then
for
some
unaccountable
reason
my
mind
travelled
into
----shire
and
I
saw
Auntie
C----
serving
out
tea
and
sugar
over
the
counter
of
the
baker's
shop
in
the
little
village.
I
luxuriated
in
the
contrast,
tho'
I
am
not
at
all
inclined
to
be
a
snob.
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