He sat down in front of it, and gave it the thoughtful once-over.
"Do you know, Reggie, old top, sometimes when I sit here, I feel as if
Amelia were back again."
"It would be a bit awkward for you if she was."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, old lad, you happen to be married to someone else."
A look of childlike enthusiasm came over his face.
"Reggie, I want to tell you how splendid Hilda is. Lots of other women
might object to my still cherishing Amelia's memory, but Hilda has been
so nice about it from the beginning. She understands so thoroughly."
I hadn't much breath left after that, but I used what I had to say:
"She doesn't object?"
"Not a bit," said Harold. "It makes everything so pleasant."
When I had recovered a bit, I said, "What do you mean by everything?"
"Well," he said, "for instance, I come up here every evening at seven
and--er--think for a few minutes."
"A few minutes?!"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, a few minutes isn't long."
"But I always have my cocktail at a quarter past."
"You could postpone it."
"And Ponsonby likes us to start dinner at seven-thirty."
"What on earth has Ponsonby to do with it?"
"Well, he likes to get off by nine, you know.
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