“What about June?” he demanded. “She’ll—she’ll never forgive me.” “Oh, blow June,” said Sarah. “Besides, it’s not settled yet, and I’m not at all sure I’m going to do it. Money isn’t everything.” “That,” said Virgil, “depends upon the amount. Besides, I daresay after a bit we shall—we shall be—er—quite happy.” “Ugh,” shuddered Sarah. “We shan’t. We shall be miserable. No,” she added suddenly. “It’s a great temptation, but we’d better not.” She handed the paper back. “‘Better not’?” cried Pardoner. “What d’you mean—‘better not’?” “Better not marry,” said Sarah. “It’ld be selling ourselves.” Virgil took a deep breath. “My dear child, you don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t go and throw away three hundred thousand pounds. Besides, what about my share? If you chuck up yours, you chuck up mine too.” “That,” said Sarah deliberately, “does not weigh with me. I came to dinner to-night to decide whether I could possibly do it. And now I know I can’t.” “My dear Sarah,” said Pardoner, “be reasonable. By the mercy of heaven, neither of us is already married. To complete our good fortune, neither of us is even pledged to marry anybody else.” “What about June?” said Sarah. “She’s got nothing in writing,” said Virgil shortly. “Listen. If either of us had been engaged, it would have complicated everything, especially for me. The damages, for instance, would have been painfully easy to assess. So we’ve much to be thankful for. Of course, it would have been nicer if we’d been left the money unconditionally, but there you are. We might be worse off. Supposing I had false teeth or a long matted beard or something. . . . And I’ve always thought, Sarah, that you were very charming, and I shouldn’t be surprised if, after a year or two, you got quite crazy about me.” Miss Vulliamy sighed. “I feel very uneasy about June,” she declared. “George’ll find somebody else, I expect. Men are like that. But poor June Townshend . . . I should hate her to think that my . . . my husband——” “June’s very intelligent,” said Virgil. “I’ll write and explain the position. Don’t worry about that. She’s most sympathetic. I’m sure she’ld be the first to——” “Congratulate you?” “Well, almost,” said Pardoner. “She’s an awful good sort, June.” “What brutes men are,” said Sarah. “However, if you must have your wretched money, I suppose I shall have to give way. Incidentally, you might begin by choosing me a peach, will you?” Virgil selected one carefully. Then he looked at Sarah. “Tell me the worst,” he said. “Shall it be rough or smooth?” “Smooth, of course. And don’t rush it. Peel it properly. Remember—you’re my slave now. Oh, and I’ld like some grenadine. I’m thirsty.” Pardoner set down his knife. “I beg,” he implored, “I beg that you will not disgrace me by supplanting this nectar by a tumbler of—of Schoolgirl’s Joy. I mean, I’ld rather order you a pint of draught stout. Stout may be coarse, but, at least, it’s got some body.”