deal of emotion. There was what I believe is termed a cutback, showing scenes from their courtship and early married life and some glimpses of Lovers Through the Ages, and the picture concluded with a closeup of the pair in an embrace, with the child looking on with natural gratification and an organ playing ‘ Hearts and Flowers ’ in the distance.”
“Proceed, Jeeves,” I said. “You interest me strangely. I begin to grasp the idea. You mean—?”
“I mean, sir, that, with this young gentleman on the premises, it might be possible to arrange a denouement of a somewhat similar nature in regard to Mr. Bullivant and Miss Vickers.”
“Aren’t you overlooking the fact that this kid is no relation of Mr. Bullivant or Miss Vickers?”
“Even with that handicap, sir, I fancy that good results might ensue. I think that, if it were possible to bring Mr. Bullivant and Miss Vickers together for a short space of time in the presence of the child, sir, and if the child were to say something of a touching nature—”
“I follow you absolutely, Jeeves,” I cried with enthusiasm. “It’s big. This is the way I see it. We lay the scene in this room. Child, centre. Girl, l.c. Freddie up stage, playing the piano. No, that won’t do. He can only play a little of ‘ The Rosary ’ with one finger, so we’ll have to cut out the soft music. But the rest’s all right. Look