“If you’d once make up your mind to it, and say you’d marry me, you’d feel miles better, I’m sure. Happier, you know, and more settled down.”

“Listen to me, Bill. Proposing to me is your idée fixe. All men propose when they’re bored and can’t think of anything to say. Remember my age and my widowed state, and go and make love to a pure young girl.”

“My darling Virginia⁠—Oh, blast! here’s that French idiot bearing down on us.”

It was indeed M. Lemoine, black-bearded and correct of demeanour as ever.

“Good morning, madame. You are not fatigued, I trust?”

“Not in the least.”

“That is excellent. Good morning, Mr. Eversleigh.”