“I give you my word,” said his host, “I’ll do you a treat. Nell shan’t get a blinkin’ thing I wouldn’t be glad of myself. It’ll be for her, of course, to choose the engagement ring.” He turned to Eleanor. “Oh, you shall have a snorter.” The unfortunate Herrick blenched. “I think, perhaps, you’d better have two—just in case you lose one.” Madge Willoughby began to shake with laughter. “If she does,” blurted David, “she’ll have all grey flannel _lingerie_—with brass buttons.” “Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t do that,” said Eleanor. “That would be unkind. Besides, a sponge-bag kilt wouldn’t suit you.” So soon as he could speak— “It’s all off,” cried David wildly. “I absolutely refuse to agree to this lop-sided idea. I won’t have anything to do with it. Her—her imagination’s too vivid. And with that overfed serpent to egg her on . . .” It was fully two minutes before his protest was overcome. “As for the jobs,” said Madge tearfully, “that they usually do together, we can be a Court of Appeal. Take the wedding, for instance. Well, I think it should be full-dress—not because Nell wants it, but because it’s only decent.” “I agree,” said Crispin warmly. “I’ve been through the hoop; why shouldn’t David?” Herrick raised his eyes to heaven and set his teeth. “Madge,” he said weakly, “why did you marry the brute?” His hostess rose with a laugh. “Love,” she said. “He wanted me to, you see, and I wanted to do as he wanted.” * * * * * The absurd arrangement worked well. The Willoughbys’ taste was irreproachable. Madge had learned how to dress in Boston, Mass., and possessed an uncanny instinct for anticipating _les modes_. Crispin’s sartorial opinions were respected in Savile Row. He had, moreover, a genius for organization. Under his direction the ‘production’ of the wedding proceeded like clockwork. An eye to colour made Madge a born decorator, and, where furniture was concerned, while they were yet herded in the showrooms, she could tell the sheep from the goats. David’s half-timbered cottage at Hammercloth Down began to look as it had looked when James the First was young. Herrick and Eleanor Cloke were admirably served. As for their patrons, they were tickled to death. Whether sitting as a Court of Appeal or supervising the lovers’ selection of the wherewithal to take the matrimonial field, they called an hilarious tune. Born with large ideas, they indulged them generously. Happily for their _protégés_, the latter were rich. . . .