Jove!”
“It is very kind of you to say so, sir.”
“Well, that’s about all, then, I think.”
“Very good, sir.”
Florence came back on Monday. I didn’t see her till we were all having tea in the hall. It wasn’t till the crowd had cleared away a bit that we got a chance of having a word together.
“Well, Bertie?” she said.
“It’s all right.”
“You have destroyed the manuscript?”
“Not exactly; but—”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I haven’t absolutely—”
“Bertie, your manner is furtive!”
“It’s all right. It’s this way—”
And I was just going to explain how things stood when out of the library came leaping Uncle Willoughby looking as braced as a two-year-old. The old boy was a