ass I shall look walking about in the street with a heart yelling
'Beatrice' at the top of its voice."

As regards meat and drink I consider that Beatrice overdid it for a
war-time lunch. She didn't give me any time to hold her hand, she was so
busy.

"It's curious," I said, as I watched the amount of food that was going
her way, "but my heart seems to have stopped murmuring altogether."

"Has it?" she said. "Oddly enough, mine's begun."

"Your luncheon has overstrained you," I said.

I had a letter from Beatrice the next morning.

DEAR JIMMY (she wrote),--You were wrong. Mine was a real murmur.
It's been coming on for some time, but not on your account. It's
murmuring for Basil Fludger. He's on leave, and we fixed things
up last Tuesday. I didn't tell you when I met you, because I was
afraid you wouldn't want to take me to lunch, and I _did_ enjoy
it.

Yours ever, BEATRICE.

If my heart gets really noisy I do hope it won't shout for Beatrice. It
would be so useless.

"Let us go hence, my heart;
she will not hear" (_Swinburne_).