“My sweet,” he said, “your very good health. There’s no one like you in all the blinkin’ world.” His guests cried their approval, and the tenderest look stole into Madge Willoughby’s eyes. He drank, smiled and set down his glass. Then he turned to Miss Cloke. “Nell,” he said, “you’re a darling. I’ld rather have you on my right than any woman I know. Yet, sweet as you are, you’re a fortunate child. David may be peculiar, but he’ll never let you down.” “What d’you mean—‘peculiar’?” said Herrick. “That,” said Eleanor, “is what I’m burning to know.” “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. Be careful of him when he’s in beer, and if ever he says he’s a life-belt and tries to put himself on, don’t argue, but send for the police.” “They say,” said Eleanor, gurgling, “that marriage tends to shatter all sorts of illusions.” Crispin laid a hand upon his heart. “My dear,” he declared, “I’m sure that yours will but substantiate your dreams.” “With which,” said Madge tremulously, “we grey-beards look towards you.” Solemnly she and her husband toasted their guests. Herrick cleared his throat. “Nell,” he said, “I give you the verb ‘to love.’ _Je t’aime, tu m’aimes, il s’aime, mais nous aimons Madge tous les trois._” He raised his glass. “‘_Il s’aime_’?” said Crispin. “Put down that port.” “We’d better include him,” said Eleanor. “Besides, he’s—he’s rather a dear.” She blew her host a kiss, and the toast was honoured. “A little more of this,” said Mrs. Willoughby, “and I shall break down.” “I—I’m sure I should have seized her,” said Crispin brokenly. “Well, now,” said Herrick, squeezing the end of a cigar, “what’s the first thing to do?” “Broadcast your folly,” said Crispin. “Put a notice in _The Times_, announcing her unaccountable determination to become your wife. If I were you I should kill two birds with one rock and add that you won’t be responsible for her debts. You never know.” “The next thing,” said Madge, “is to decide roughly upon a date. Let’s see. This is March. What about some time in May?” “That’s all right for me,” said Eleanor. “As at present arranged, I get back from Nice——” “My dear good child,” said her hostess, “you can wash Nice out. You’ve got to get your _trousseau_.” The lovers regarded one another. “Can’t she get that at Nice?” said David. “I mean, I’d thought I’ld go too. Give the east winds a miss an’ play a little pat-ball an’——” “Nice?” said Crispin. “You won’t have time to get to Worthing and back. You haven’t the remotest idea of what you’re up against. As a rule, a full-dress wedding takes over two months to produce, and that means going full blast the whole of the time.” Herrick shifted uneasily. “Must—er—must it be full-dress?” he ventured. “I mean——” A shriek from Madge and Eleanor cut short the protest. “But, of _course_,” cried his hostess. “You must be married at St. Margaret’s, with six bridesmaids.”